Sword and Sorcery
by Reymonkey
Summary: Nash Antiques and the Arcana Cabana are only a few blocks apart in New York City. What happens when Connor MacLeod and Balthazar Blake meet? This story begins in 1984, before the first Highlander movie, and spans almost 20 years to Sorcerer's Apprentice.
1. Different Kinds

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

1. Different Kinds

New York, Autumn, 1984

Early afternoon sunlight gilded the row of three story buildings along Hudson street, most of them shops catering to tourists and residents of the nearby Greenwich Village. Balthazar Blake paused, wary and brooding, outside on building to study the lettering on the window that read 'Nash antiques'.

When he entered, a woman roughly in her forties with wavy blonde hair and a neat suit glanced up from the front desk. She rose and approached him with a polite smile, but her eyes were wary. "Can I help you, sir?"

Balthazar had no illusions about how out of place he looked here, with his long wavy hair, battered leather coat and slouch hat. On his hands a collection of rings glittered, the light catching on a large yellow stone set in one, but despite the ornate jewelry, his appearance was otherwise scruffy. He took off his hat and regarded her with deep blue eyes, and smiled politely, but there was no real joy in it. "I'm looking for a specific piece. I heard you acquired it from an estate sale a couple of months ago…"

The woman's eyes were a paler grey-blue, and intelligent, even subtly knowing. One eyebrow rose. "Can you describe it?"

He tilted his head slightly, wondering over the knowing part of her expression. "A ring. Very heavy, very ornate. Set with a white stone, off-center, sort of a zoomorphic motif?"

She looked thoughtful, drifting over to a large jewelry case nearby, but it contained nothing even close to matching his description. "I'll have to consult Mr. Nash…"

"I'd appreciate that," He nodded. "I'll wait."

"Thank you, may I say who is interested in the piece?"

"Blake. Balthazar Blake." He gave her a slightly archaic bow.

"Yes sir, I'll just call up…" She retreated to an office with a window, where she could watch him while she used the phone, or possibly an intercom. While he waited, he glanced around, but showed little interest in anything else there in the store. Balthazar could not hear whatever was said, through the glass, but after a moment the woman returned with that same polite smile. "Mr. Nash will be down momentarily."

"Thank you."

"We have several other items from the same estate sale…" She tried to draw him gently over to another jewelry case, almost transparently to keep him busy. Blake inspected the jewelry in a detached manner, being not much of an expert in anything non-magical, but finding it all pretty. A pair of earrings seemed to catch his eye, but he did not bother asking to see them.

A few moments later the elevator door beside the office slid open quietly, and a man in a suit stepped out warily. The suit was expensive, but he looked out of place in it, scruffy and in need of a shave, moving into the room with the dangerous grace of an animal. The gaze that took in the tableau was intense and almost predatory.

Blake turned when Nash emerged, and his gaze narrowed, sizing the man up. After a moment, he gave a slow, sober nod, unsmiling but also non-threatening.

The nod was returned, but Nash stopped a good six feet away. "Is there some reason you're interested in this particular item?" In a single sentence the man's accent ranged across half a dozen countries, most of them European. His voice held a slightly raspy quality.

The woman turned to glance at her employer, expression questioning, and Mr. Nash's gaze shifted to hers briefly, then he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Balthazar folded his arms and leaned against the nearest counter lightly. "I'm a collector." With a gesture of his hand he flashed his own rings. "Have you had many inquiries about it?"

"No…" He tilted his head, studying Balthazar. "Should I have? There were more valuable pieces…"

"I'm just wondering why you don't have it on display."

Nash gave a mild smirk. "All antique dealers are collectors. I thought I might keep it for myself… at least for a while."

Balthazar chuckled softly and rubbed his chin. "So you're not selling?" This would be tricky, then.

"I wasn't planning to, but I'm curious how you heard of the ring. Did anyone send you?" He continued to study Balthazar with stormy eyes.

"I was… an acquaintance of the previous owner. For about a decade. He was quite a scholar. Shame about the accident."

One eyebrow rose. "While we're talking about it, we'd better make sure it's the same ring you're thinking of." Nash kept his eyes on Balthazar, barely turning his head. "Rachel, can you go fetch it from upstairs?"

She nodded and brushed against him gently as she went past. Mr. Nash didn't seem to mind.

Balthazar watched Rachel go mildly, then looked back to Nash. "Been here long?" His tone _could_ have meant the store itself, but deliberately hinted at more.

Nash smiled, dropped his gaze, and glanced around the shop. "This business? Nash Antiques has only been here about ten years…" His gaze swung back to Balthazar, subtly challenging, although he continued to smile. "I inherited the building from my grandfather."

Blake found himself mildly amused. "I have a place close by, but it's more of a storage room than a shop."

"You must collect more than jewelry…" The expression of curiosity made Nash look younger, although his eyes carried age.

"A little of this and that. Books, trinkets, pottery. Sometimes old toys." Dolls were used frequently in magic.

"Why do you collect what you do?" It was a pointed question.

"Some things need to be guarded. Others just need to be remembered." He looked back into the nearby jewelry case idly. "Those earrings, for example… new materials, old design. Very old." 'New' was a bit of a stretch, when they were roughly a century old.

Mr. Nash was quiet for a long moment, studying the earrings from a distance, then he spoke more slowly. "Antiques became antiques because people passed them down, as tangible memories… now they get sold because they're inconvenient to inherit, and bought because that's trendy."

"Mm." Blake rubbed the yellow stone on his magic ring thoughtfully. "Sometimes these things hold the ghosts of the people who owned them."

"…You think?" Nash frowned mildly, then turned as Rachel slid back the elevator grating. She hesitated just a moment, on the threshold, as if checking to make sure they weren't fighting before stepping fully into the room.

"The girl who owned those earrings-" Blake began, but trailed off as Rachel entered, looking politely expectant.

Nash's head turned slowly back to him, gaze questioning again. "…What about her?"

Rachel, halfway across the floor, paused at her employer's wary tone of voice. In her hands she held a small velvet jewelry box, and to Blake's magical senses the ring within pulsed with dormant power.

Distracted by the energy from the tiny box, he answered absently, "She played the piano at parties. Sang like a bird. And her name was Verity." Balthazar smiled wryly.

Nash was studying him anew, with a gaze that seemed like it ought to burn holes in him.

"…Who?" Rachel asked, a little confused, and she came to stop by Nash's elbow. The body language between them seemed to say much more than employee and boss. She, too, studied Balthazar, but her gaze was softer. "…Someone you knew?"

Balthazar looked them both over. "His older sister. The man who owned all this. She died of Scarlet fever when she was nineteen, but he kept them, obviously. Because they carried an echo of her." He shook his head thoughtfully, and politely held out a hand for the ring box. "Sweet, but _**this**_ is volatile."

"Volatile how?" Nash held out his hand, too, and his assistant passed him the box instead. Then she moved away quietly to the front door, as if sensing that whatever was going on did not need interruptions.

Balthazar sighed. "The less you know, the better. The man this belonged to was murdered." The coroner's official report had claimed snake bite, but Balthazar knew details the police did not.

"That… sounds more plausible than what they told me." Nash opened the box to glance at the ring, then held it out facing Balthazar with the look of a man waiting for a trap to spring. "I own it now, so what happens to me?"

"Sell it to me, and walk away from it." Balthazar advised, eyeing the ring but making no move to take it. "There _**will**_ be other interested parties, and they won't be as accommodating."

Nash's gaze flickered briefly to Rachel by the door. It was a telling look; it was her safety he was thinking of rather than his own. "You're buying it for these other parties, or keeping it for… your own collection?" There was a hint of resignation in his tone, now.

Balthazar frowned. "I work for myself, right now."

The other man gave a slow nod and stepped closer, putting the ring within Balthazar's easy reach. "I'd like to see your collection sometime."

He smiled faintly and produced a business card. "I'm open Monday through Thursday, ten to five." In truth he kept the store open only when he felt like it, but it was easier to catch him during those hours.

Nash nodded, and gave the card a glance before he put it away, then fell into the basic practicalities of the sale. He seemed willing to accept the first offer, although Balthazar was careful to make it reasonable. He was not overly wealthy, but this he could afford. In the background Rachel seemed to relax and returned to her desk, subtly watching the men. Balthazar was friendlier and polite, relieved not to have to fight or steal to get the ring. As he headed for the door he paused. "You have my card, call me if there's trouble."

Nash nodded soberly, while Rachel looked between them with concern. It seemed a safe bet that she'd be asking questions once he was gone.

It was nearly a week later that Mr. Nash showed up at his door, wearing a long tan trenchcoat over dress shirt and slacks. The man stood back and studied the building before coming to peer in the door, and trying the handle. Finding it unlocked, he entered and wandered through the dusty, eccentric collection of things crammed into the shop. After a moment a katana caught his eye and he drifted toward it, scowling, and lifted it gently off the display stand.

Hearing the entrance, Blake popped up from behind a mannequin where he'd been rearranging. "I thought I told you-" The words died in his throat as his visitor whirled with the sword in hand, sliding into a defensive kata pose as if by instinct. He managed to maintain a calm expression, but felt his eyebrows rise. "Oh. It's you. Careful, that's sharp. Here for something in particular?"

Mr. Nash actually looked sheepish, lowering the blade. "Very. Even now." He put it back on the stand with evident care and respect. "You invited me. I was curious." One finger lingered to stroke the design of the carved bone handle. Whether or not he recognized it as the work of the sorcerer Nakano was hard to say.

Balthazar studied him. "Characteristic of the artist's work. No rust, no dullness. Ever."

"A master of skills before his time…" There was a definite wistfulness to the tone.

"You knew him?' Balthazar gave up beating around the bush.

Nash turned back and studied him a moment, with that wary, animal gaze. "I saw his death…"

Nodding, he leaned on the counter. "Never met him, but he was pretty remarkable by all accounts."

"That's an understatement." His visitor gave a mild smirk, but his eyes were heavy with age and sorrow.

"In the end, we're all pretty fragile." Balthazar looked away, thinking of another great sorcerer besides Nakano. "Even the greatest of us."

Nash shrugged, tone shifting out of reverie abruptly. "You could have spoken freely in front of her. She knows."

"It's never a good idea to get people involved in my affairs." Balthazar sighed. "You or her."

"Maybe not. You're not my kind, so what _are_ you?" There was something a little bit youthful about the intense curiosity. The man's age was very hard to guess.

"I'm cursed." Baltthazar let out irritably. Nash was a complication, but one he was finding it hard to dismiss. "…I'm going to get some coffee. Want some coffee?"

"Isn't everybody? All right…" The man's expression showed both mild amusement and frustration over the vague answer.

Balthazar gestured him into the back of the shop, mentally giving in. "What do you know about magic?"

One eyebrow rose, but he followed. "You mean the kind Nakano practiced?"

"Nakano's magic was… an interesting fusion of East and West. I suspect only he and some of his students practiced that particular kind."

"But you don't mean just immortality." Nash picked his way carefully around the crowding artifacts, adding, "He didn't teach me much of that. I wasn't his student for very long."

"How old are you?" Balthazar glanced back at him, thinking that he seemed to prefer the direct approach.

Nash looked uneasy, returning his gaze. "Less than five hundred. I was his _last_ student…"

He nodded, "Over a thousand, but the rules aren't the same for me." Balthazar moved toward the coffee machine on a counter along the back wall. There was less clutter in this area, at least, as he used this space more. "I first met an immortal in… 1117, I think."

"No… Rachel was afraid you were a headhunter." His guest leaned against an open space along the wall, watching. "My name is Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."

"Definitely not interested." He smiled faintly and poured coffee into a couple of Styrofoam cups. "I gave you my real name before."

"I can't use one name too long… but you have a way of escaping notice, don't you. I must have walked past this shop a hundred times."

"It generally only attracts the attention of other practitioners of the art."

"I'm not a sorcerer." Connor's gaze drifted over the items in the back room.

Balthazar nodded. "It's not as glamorous as it sounds."

Connor gave a raspy chuckle. "Neither is immortality."

He gave his guest a haggard smile and at on a stool by the counter, gesturing to another. "So what do you _really_ want to know? It'll all sound a little bizarre, I warn you."

"I wanted to know what you are… and what the ring is." Connor undid his coat and extracted another katana in its scabbard, propping it against the stool before he sat. It was not Nakano's work, but clearly made by a master swordsmith all the same.

"I see you came prepared." Balthazar eyed the sword.

"I wasn't sure what I was walking into."

"I'm not much for swordfighting." He sipped his coffee. "It's beautiful, though."

"Maybe you should count yourself lucky. Yes, it is."

Balthazar smiled humorlessly. "…The ring is a focus and gathering point for magical energy. Most wizards have one. There are other methods, but… tradition." He shrugged. "The ring I bought from you belonged to a student of my student. It has some unique characteristics. He was a talented man."

"I didn't know him." Connor sighed. "Buying from Estate sales is just part of the business."

"I know. I'm not seriously into the business right now, but I've been there. Anyway, I have reason to believe his murderer will come after the ring."

"You already know what to expect from them?" Connor's face showed wary concern.

"I don't know them personally, but I know their kind. Don't bother to keep me a secret if someone comes asking about it."

Connor nodded. "I'll warn you if that happens."

"Thank you; worry more about taking care of your own."

"Do you think they'd put Rachel in any danger?" Connor's voice was calm, but he tensed as though ready to leap to his feet and run to her rescue.

Balthazar frowned and answered with slow care, "It's bad policy to openly kill civilians. Attracts attention. But there are ways to get around that…"

Connor rested his cup on one leg with a frown, still quietly alarmed. "Maybe I should be there…"

He hesitated, then asked with as much delicacy as he could manage, "Rachel. She's… a friend?" They didn't seem quite like lovers, but Balthazar knew he was no expert on personal relationships.

Connor smiled weakly. "She's my daughter. Adopted. I found her the only survivor in a town the Germans had taken…"

The comment triggered distant memories, and after a moment he had to pull himself to focus on the present, giving a nod. "You want wards for your place?"

Connor's expression registered mild surprise. "…I don't know how that works."

"It would take too long to explain, but I can make a couple different kinds. They're mostly a magical alarm system, but they'll negate certain kinds of spells within their boundaries."

"I'd appreciate that, for her sake, and I can pay."

"That's not necessary." Balthazar nodded soberly. "It's good you have something to lose."

Connor winced and took a gulp of coffee.

He knew it was a harsh thing to say, but he meant it. After a moment he set his cup aside and went toward the back wall, dusting cobwebs off the bricks with his hands. Behind him he could hear Connor shifting, restless. Under his touch the bricks rumbled and shifted, opening a space in the wall. Within sat books, several wooden boxes, and a staff of ash wood. He selected a book and pulled out the staff, then backed out and let the walls close again. When he turned around he found Connor leaning forward, watching with quiet fascination. The expression amused him, and he explained simply, "Better than a wall safe."

"And easier to get to than a safe deposit box." Connor returned his smile.

"That, too. I'll have to be in your building to set the wards. Did you want to go there now?" He twirled the staff.

"If that's okay with you." Connor was quick to set his coffee aside and retrieve his katana.

"Did you drive? I guess you're close enough to walk."

"It didn't seem worth getting the car out for." The immortal tucked the sword away and tied up his coat.

"No problem, I could use the exercise." Balthazar put on his hat, not caring how conspicuous he might look for the few blocks between their shops.

Connor looked him up and down once and smirked, but said nothing, leading the way out. They walked more than a block before he seemed unable to restrain his comment. "You don't move with the times much, do you?"

"What?" Balthazar blinked, uncertain what he meant, or if he should be offended.

"Nevermind." Connor lapsed back into silence, but smirked the whole way back to the antique store.


	2. Words and Wards

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

2. Words and Wards

When the two men stepped into the antique store together, the owner wearing a bemused smile and his companion wearing his usual outdated garb and carrying a staff, Rachel glanced up from her desk and gave them a smug smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Blake."

"Ma'am." Balthazar tipped his hat to her, then removed it politely, striving to ignore her knowing look. "Quiet afternoon?"

"Oh, heavens." She grinned, primarily at Connor, eyes sparkling. "If we're going to be seeing more of you around here… I'm Rachel Ellenstein."

She seemed like a sweet lady, and sharp, too. He found his expression softening as he nodded. "Just Balthazar. If you can think of a decent nickname, go ahead, but I never could."

"I'll work on that." She seemed nice, but shared a trace of Connor's sharp sense of humor.

"Rachel, you haven't had anyone else come asking about that ring, have you?"

She sobered, looking between them. "Not yet. What should I say when I do?" She was quick to assume it was 'when', not 'if'.

"Whatever it takes to get them to leave you in peace. Send them my way if it helps."

She hesitated just a little before she nodded, as if dissatisfied with the answer. "All right. Is there anything else I need to know about them?"

Connor glanced past her. "Any customers?"

"A young couple in the back dithering over the 18th century wardrobe you brought from Paris this summer. They won't buy, but they'll look a while, and they can't hear us up here."

Balthazar set his book down and leaned his staff against a counter. "I'll need an open space for the wards."

Rachel's eyebrows rose mildly.

"Does it need to be on the ground floor?" Connor frowned in thought.

"No, but it makes the process easier."

"If you give me five minutes, we can close up early." Rachel smirked, and nodded her head at Connor. "Or _**you**_ can go talk to them, and it'll take less than two."

Connor made a face, "Five minutes is fine."

Balthazar chuckled quietly and nodded. "Thank you."

"Time me." She grinned and hurried off, shoes clicking quietly on the hardwood floor.

Connor grunted and led Balthazar to the little office, where he tucked his katana under the desk and sprawled in the swivel chair. "She says I scare away customers."

There were several other nice chairs facing the desk, and Balthazar sat in one politely, turning his hat in his hands. "She's probably right."

"What's_ that_ supposed to mean?" He didn't sound any more offended than Balthazar did when he accused the sorcerer of being old-fashioned.

"Mm. Maybe I was a special case, but you _**did**_ look like you were ready to rip my face off the other day." Balthazar smiled.

"I _told_ you, she called up to say she thought there was either an old friend or a headhunter downstairs, and I knew you weren't the first one…"

"Well, you need to work on your poker face."

"I'll do that if you work on your wardrobe."

Rachel came to stand in the doorway casually, leaning against the frame. "Three minutes, twenty-six seconds. Do I get to know what you two are up to, or is it boy's talk?"

"It's practical," Balthazar protested. "I have these shoes custom made." He looked over to Rachel, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "As long as you don't insult my fashion sense."

"Never! Is he being rude again? I can't do a thing with him. Anyway, he's only in a suit because I told him he should make a good impression."

Connor grunted, shedding the long coat.

"Eh. It's not hard to impress me. I wore the same tunic from the time I was eight until I turned fourteen." He steepled his fingers. The ring collection sparkled, every one of them ornate but the plain gold band on the third finger of his left hand.

Rachel took all this in and simply nodded. "_**Are**_ you going to tell me what's going on?"

"He's… not an immortal. He's a sorcerer." Connor said bluntly.

"…Oh." Her eyes widened slightly.

Balthazar hesitated, then said slowly, "I was one of three apprentices who served and studied with Merlin, over a thousand years ago. I'm currently immortal by magic, but not by choice."

Rachel came to sit on the edge of Connor's desk, but for all her forty-some years she made it look innocent and childlike rather than seductive. She glanced over at Connor briefly, as if seeking his reaction.

The immortal leaned forward on the desk, frowning in thought. "I was never sure of all that was real."

"There's more than one game being played on this planet." He sighed. "It's real, or it was, but you may not have heard the whole truth."

Connor shrugged. "Chivalry had gone downhill by the time I was born, or maybe it never reached that far north. King Arthur was already called a legend."

"That's sad, so much must have been lost…" Rachel added softly.

"Chivalry had high ideals, but fell short more often than not." Balthazar smiled weakly at Rachel. "Some things are meant to be lost. At any rate, I was there when Merlin fought Morgana…"

She pursed her lips, thinking. "There are stories he was imprisoned in a tree, or a cave…?"

Connor was watching Balthazar intently, but his expression lacked Rachel's wonderment. "They also say Arthur will return."

"Merlin's essence lives on in a ring. I can't tell you much about Arthur; he never bothered with us."

Connor sighed. "Lots of stories grow out of the truth, and what people _want_ to be the truth."

Rachel rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Balthazar looked apologetic, not sure what to say. The immortal's assessment was cynical, but accurate.

"The ring, it's not the one we had…?" Rachel asked.

"No… that ring belonged to a student of a student of mine. He did a lot of storage spells. There's a huge amount of energy in it."

She relaxed slightly. "So the person after it is just looking for power."

Connor shrugged. "People are people, even if they're immortals or sorcerers."

"That's definitely true," He sighed. "The followers of Morgana still pop up from time to time, looking to free her from her current prison and end the world as we know it."

"Sounds like a movie plot."

Rachel sighed and murmured, "I don't know how I survived being raised by such a cynic." She turned to Balthazar. "This magic you were going to do…?"

He smiles bitterly at Connor, but softened when he turned to the lady. "Wards. An early warning system in case someone with evil intentions comes along."

"Hm. Sounds useful."

"How big a clear space?" Connor stood, clearly ready to go to work.

"Ten by ten feet would be ideal, but I can work smaller…"

"I can do that. The room with the big dining set…"

Rachel hopped off the desk, ready to help. She wasn't a tall woman, although heels helped, but she looked almost childlike beside Connor. They made an odd pair.

Balthazar rose and collected his things, watching them together with a twinge of envy.

Connor led the way to one of the larger rooms, where an oak dining table and matching chairs dominated the space. He wrestled with the central leaf of the table carefully while Rachel moved the matching chairs to the next room.

"I could just…" Balthazar hesitated, watching them. "Nevermind." They seemed to work as an efficient team, and he was afraid offering to move it all magically might be taken as an insult.

Rachel gave him a smile in passing. "We'll have it clear in a moment."

"You _could_ get the other end of the table." Connor said, pushing it together to make it more compact, if still weighty.

Balthazar set his book and staff aside and took the other end of the table obligingly. Once the table was moved and the Oriental rug beneath rolled up, there was ample open space in the middle of the room. The sorcerer paced out the size of his circle, then consulted the book.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Rachel asked quietly.

"Just… don't get too startled. This looks like fire, but I'm not going to burn your place down."

Connor only nodded, watching with interest.

He gestured loosely with his staff, then set it aside and made a subtle gesture with his hands. The ring glinted as the circle flared into life around him.

Rachel gasped and moved closer to Connor, as if seeking protection and he put an arm around her. He seemed fascinated rather than afraid, a faint crackling pulse of power emanating from him as if he were seeking to magically 'listen in' on what was being done.

Flames rippled, surged, and coalesced into shining shapes on the floor, circles in circles. Balthazar murmured softly under his breath, eyes half closed, ignoring the crackle at the edge of his senses and sketching symbols in the air with his fingers. When at last the flames died down into a soft glow and faded entirely, there was no remaining mark on the floor.

Rachel let out a breath, and squeezed Connor's arm, her voice hushed. "That was amazing!"

As soon as she squeezed his arm, Connor's probing presence seemed to drop away. "Thank you."

Balthazar nodded to him soberly. "They'll alert us both if someone with magic gets in. Rachel may feel it, too, it depends on how stealthy they are. And light combat spells will fizzle out in this area. You still want to be careful outside this building."

"Maybe… you should stay in your old room a few days…"

Rachel drew away gently, but firmly. "Connor, I'm not a little girl. I'll be careful."

Balthazar smiled wistfully and picked up his things. "You should be fine. They may not even show up here."

"What will you do when they come? Here or there…" Connor looked displeased, but he seemed disinclined to argue with Rachel in front of the sorcerer.

"Fight them." He answered mildly.

Rachel sighed quietly.

Connor gave her a slightly puzzled glance, and looked back to Balthazar. "Good luck. I owe you."

"Thank you, but it's not a big deal." He smiled and headed back into the front room of the shop.

"Thank you. We'll keep an eye out for anyone suspicious." Rachel added, following the sorcerer with Connor a quiet shadow behind her.

He nodded. "They all wear rings. That's always a tip-off." Balthazar shook hands with Rachel and gave her a chaste kiss on the back of the hand, then smiled and saluted Connor.

Rachel looked charmed, blushing faintly. "Thank you again, and good night… B.B."

He laughed. "All right, I suppose that'll do. Take care."

Connor gave a raspy chuckle and let him out of the store. "You're stuck with it now, you know. Be careful. I'll keep my ears open for you."

"Thank you. If you need anything…" He shrugged and put his hat back on.

"…Likewise." Connor waited in the doorway, watching until he turned the corner. It was the first time in a long time Balthazar could remember anyone watching out for him.


	3. Enemies and Friends

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

3. Enemies and Friends

Within days of Balthazar setting the wards at Nash Antiques, Connor MacLeod came by for a brief visit, but he had no real news to deliver and didn't seem to be a naturally talkative man. The next week passed by in the usual slow rhythm of dusty quiet and no customers to speak of, until late in the evening he finally caught a tingle from his spellworking in the other shop. Only a moment later, his phone rang.

"Blake." He answered tersely, coat in hand. "Make it quick, I'm headed out the door."

The voice at the other end was only a woman's whisper, but terribly familiar to his ears. "He melted the window. Connor's away…" She sounded slightly shaky.

"Rachel? Stay hidden, I'm coming."

"Thanks." It was barely audible over the line.

"Hang on." Without waiting for an answer he hung up and raced out the door, heading for the shop at top speed. The moment he turned the corner he could see the dark empty square of the front window, and the glossy puddle of melted glass on the sidewalk beneath, but it seemed too obvious an entrance. He teleported to the alcove just inside the front door and looked around. It was clearly after hours and the shop had been closed, but there was dim light from the hall to the elevator and the office. Rachel was nowhere in sight, but through the big window of the office he noticed the cord running across the desk, as if someone had pulled the telephone beneath it. He hesitated, relieved by the sign of life but unsure if he should try to get Rachel out or just try to draw out his opponent.

Then his peripheral vision caught a figure crouched in the shadow of a jewelry case, long dark hair, the hint of a handsome face, and the glint of a red stone in a ring. "I know what you're here for," Balthazar called out evenly. "It's not here; you're wasting your time."

There was a pause, then an echoing voice that seemed to come from nowhere answered, "I felt the wards go off. But this place isn't yours…"

"No. Why don't we take this outside? The proprietor won't be pleased you melted his window."

"Then it does mean something to you? Why don't you go get the ring and bring it to me? Or I'll turn the building into a smoking crater."

Balthazar chuckled, trying to hide how tense he felt. "In Manhattan? That's a little bold, even for a Morganian…"

"Try me."

"I just might." With a glance and a quiet gesture, Balthazar brought a sculpture of an owl on a high shelf to life. The metal bird sprung from its perch and swooped heavily at the hidden sorcerer.

From behind the desk in the office he caught the smallest flash of pale gold hair and a soft gasp. At least she was still safe. For the moment. Somewhere in the distance he caught the screech of tires, but in this neighborhood it could just be teenagers racing, and he desperately hoped that was all it was.

The brass claws of the owl scraped over a shield, and the Morganian laughed. "I'm not impressed yet." His head swiveled towards the office, and the red stone of his ring flashed. "Is that what you came here for? A woman?"

He could feel the shape of the magic, snakes coalescing from the dust around Rachel slithering to encircle her legs. There was no scream, but a clunk and ding as if she were bashing at them with the phone, then a shot, and a few thumps.

"Leave her alone, she's not part of this!"

Rachel scrambled out of the office on all fours, a revolver in one hand and one of her shoes in the other. Pale and shaking, she paused in the doorway.

A figure leapt through the melted window, catlike. Connor's katana was in his hands and seemed to be almost crackling faintly with the power of a recent quickening.

The snakes, only momentarily daunted, slithered towards the woman crouched in the office doorway with fangs ready. A gesture from Balthazar sent the brass owl diving after them, tearing with metal talons, then he lunged for the Morganian. Ring streaming light, he grappled with the other sorcerer while the man was distracted by the unexpected new arrival.

Rachel ducked the owl, wide-eyed, and scrambled to her feet. "Papa…"

"Upstairs." Connor growled quietly, moving closer to circle the fighting sorcerers like an animal waiting to strike.

Rachel made a dash for the elevator obediently on stockinged feet, the owl covering her retreat with a metallic shriek. Balthazar's last command to it had been to protect her, and it would obey that until he had time to deal with it again, or until the magic ran out, whichever came first.

His awareness of the exchange behind him was obliterated by the fire that burst from the other Morganian's ring, wrapping around him. He yelled a curse, both for the pain and his own split focus. Only a moment later the flames died, the smoke left behind forming into a dozen hand shapes that grabbed and tore at the Morganian, pulling him closer to Connor and away from Balthazar. The Merlinian needed a few crucial moments to recover.

He got more than he'd hoped. Connor leapt a chair to get closer, bounding over it like a deer, and his katana lashed out like lightning. The first stroke sliced under the Morganian's arm, but a shield flickered under the attack and the way the sorcerer doubled over told of damage. Connor's second slash shattered the Morganian's shield and left his ring hand almost severed at the wrist. He howled in pain.

As if expecting a counter-strike, Connor slid back into a defensive pose with the sword, but their mutual enemy didn't seem to be in shape now to retaliate.

Balthazar took advantage of the distraction to fire a plasma bolt at the man's midsection, and the Morganian collapsed under the dual assault, bleeding and to all appearances dead.

Connor slid in again with the blade raised, and for a moment Balthazar expected him to cut off the other sorcerer's head, but in the end the immortal settled for finishing the job of removing his hand.

He stood panting, gaping only a little, and in pain from burns. "That's good, that's effective." He heard himself wheeze. Gruesome and ruthless, but effective. He bent down to take the ring off the severed hand carefully, and touched the dead man's chest. "…Feels like he's hidden his heart somewhere. Better get him out of here."

"…What?" Connor's breathing was fast, and while the katana in his hand was held low, he still looked ready to kill something.

"It's an immortality trick, don't worry about it." He felt a little vulnerable, crouched beside the dead sorcerer with the swordsman looming so close by.

Connor glowered down at the Morganian. "I know some good places to dispose of dead bodies." And their severed heads, presumably. "Is Rachel hurt?"

He caught the note of worry there, the key to the unsprung tension. "Shouldn't be. I got here pretty quick. Why don't you go check on her, and I'll clean up a little."

"…Are you hurt?" Connor backed off from the body a little, standing down. Balthazar glanced up at the immortal, mildly surprised. Under the tan trench coat, the swordsman was in sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt. A bloody gash marred the front of his shirt, but the blood was half dry, and he seemed completely unhurt. Whatever injury he'd suffered earlier must have already healed.

"First and second degree burns. I'll live." He bent over the corpse, pulling a bag of powder out of his pocket and hoping that going about his own business would send the immortal away.

"There's a first aid kit… somewhere." Connor obviously had no need for one. After another moment of silently watching, he moved away to the elevator with a mumble, taking Balthazar's advice.

Balthazar nodded absently, sprinkling the powder over the body and murmuring a transfiguration. Only after Connor had gone did he remember that somewhere upstairs Rachel had a brass owl protecting her, and it might be reluctant to let even Connor close.

When she came down in the elevator, it was flapping around her, and Connor was nowhere in sight. She had the first aid kit, though, and strode toward him with a determined air that didn't quite hide how pale she looked. "Are you all right?"

Under his magic, the corpse had changed into a block of wood, and he sat back on the floor to inspect the burns on his arms. "…Fine, fine. I- oh, sorry about the owl." He sent the statue flying back up to its place, where it settled back into its original pose and inanimate state. "You all right?"

She blinked at the owl, then knelt by him and opened the kit. "My stockings are in worse shape than I am, but you've got burns." She smiled gently as if it would hide the faint tremor in her voice.

"I can heal them, I just need a minute to catch my breath."

Rachel nodded, and gently started rolling up his sleeves to put burn ointment on his injuries anyway. He didn't dare try to stop her. "The owl didn't like Connor…"

He blinked, then answered slowly, "Sorcerers can shapeshift." With a liquid flicker across his face and torso, he pulled up Connor's image to frown at her soberly, illustrating the point. Mimicking his voice and accent was merely another layer to the illusion. "You can never be too careful." He let the spell fade into nothing again. "…How pissed is he?"

Rachel stared only a little, then smirked and resumed treating him. "You don't quite have the glower down. He's changing his shirt… he's not angry at you, he's just… Connor."

Blake chuckled, having already gotten the measure of the immortal's formidable personality. "Fair enough. Thanks for keeping your head, by the way. I hope this kind of thing doesn't happen often."

"…No. He tries to keep me out of things as much as possible. He always has… but it doesn't always work." She dabbed ointment on his face gently, but seemed to be avoiding meeting his eyes.

"Well, I'll do my best to keep out of your hair in the future." Balthazar held still for the treatment, watching her expression from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, don't do that…" She paused, suddenly sheepish.

He smiled a little. "They only show up every couple of decades, but I think I've lost the knack of being sociable."

"I'm not sure Connor ever had it…" She moved to his other side to get that arm, still dodging his gaze to focus on her work. "But you seem like you could use a friend, and I know he could."

"Probably." Balthazar sighed, resigned. "And you? It must be hard keeping so many secrets, ever since you were a child… but you seem content."

Rachel shrugged, voice soft. "I have a few friends… I'm not looking for anything more." He tried to study her as subtly as possible. The woman was lovely for her age, but up close there were all the signs of a woman moving into her forties. In his observations, most women married before that, or not at all.

The elevator grating slid open quietly, and Connor stalked through the store to study the puddle of melted glass that had once been the front window.

Balthazar nodded slowly, his gaze following the silent immortal. "I can take care of that window, if you want. Hard to explain to insurance." He turned back to Rachel. "Thank you. That feels better." Smiling gently, forced himself to move to get up.

"Nothing's really broken…" Connor's brooding gaze roved the shop and scene of the fight. He seemed to be making a very transparent effort not to appear tense.

Rachel smiled a little and closed up the kit, also getting to her feet. "The phone might be."

"That you'll have to take care of on your own. Electronics and magic don't always mix well." He held out a hand, and the glass shimmied and rippled up to take its place in the windowpanes.

Connor stood back to watch the window re-form. "Thanks."

"I guess this never happened, then." Rachel sighed and moved toward the office, possibly to retrieve her other shoe, but she seemed hesitant to actually enter it.

"Probably best that way." Mildly amused, Balthazar glanced at Connor with a nod. "Any time."

"It isn't quite over, is it?" The immortal's gaze had gone to the block of wood that had once been a sorcerer.

"Not until Morgana is destroyed." Balthazar bent to pick it up. "I'll take him back and make sure he doesn't bother you anymore, though."

"Let me know if he gives you any more trouble?" Connor smiled unpleasantly. "I know a little about woodcarving, too."

Balthazar gave a laugh. "I'll keep you in mind." He tucked the wood under his arm, shook hands with Connor, and waved farewell to Rachel before leaving. As fights went, this hadn't made for such a terrible evening, after all.


	4. Drinks before lunch

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

4. Drinks before lunch

The next morning Balthazar's injuries still ached, but a lingering buoyancy outweighed them. Two days later he arranged for a courier to deliver a bouquet of calla lilies for Rachel, a bottle of scotch for Connor, and a tin of cookies for them both.

By the following morning he received an elegant, handwritten thank you card that claimed to be from them both, but Rachel's feminine hand was more clearly evident in the act. He placed it on the back counter with the coffee maker, where he passed it at least a dozen times a day.

It was a few weeks later that Connor showed up, stepping in with a gust of rain and autumn leaves. The jeans and t-shirt under the long coat looked more natural on him than a suit.

Balthazar was seated on a counter, at work with a mortar and pestle, but glanced up in surprise at the unexpected guest. He found himself smiling a little. "Social call, or is there trouble?"

Connor grinned devilishly and pulled a bottle of scotch out of his coat. "Only whatever trouble _we_ make."

Even more pleasantly surprised, he set the mortar and pestle aside and hopped down off the counter. "Well, all right then. I'll get out the glasses."

"Oh, and Rachel says hello." The immortal wandered deeper into the shop to admire the Nakano sword again, and peer over at the contents of the mortar.

"How is she?" Balthazar ducked into the back briefly to find a couple of clean glasses. When he returned he found Connor leaning over with his nose almost in the mortar, curious as a child. "Fine. Off with her girlfriends. Some kind of shopping thing."

"Mmh. Don't breathe that, it's an intoxicant. Lemongrass, olieribos, and jimson weed." He offered an empty glass as a distraction.

Connor looked up, raising an eyebrow, and set the bottle of scotch on the counter. "Maybe you don't need my help getting in trouble." He offered to pour for them both.

"Well _**I**_ don't smoke it." Balthazar held out his glass willingly, and watched as it was filled generously before Connor did the same to his own.

"Sure."

"…Okay, not _lately_." He amended, feeling a little giddy even before he took his first sip of the scotch. He'd been careful not to breathe what he was mixing, so it couldn't be that, either.

"Fair enough." Connor started with a healthy gulp that noticeably lowered the level of the amber liquid in the glass. "How did you know about immortals? How many have you met?" It wasn't demanding, precisely, just tactlessly straightforward.

"Only… three, I think. The first was in Greece in the 1100's. She was quite a beauty, very wealthy, very playful. She employed me for a while." Let Connor think of that what he would.

The immortal nodded, listening, but there was something slightly distracted in his gaze. "…Did you ever meet a man by the name of Ramirez?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Friend? Teacher?"

"My first teacher." Connor nodded, eyeing his glass reflectively. "Never mind. Go on." His second swallow was marginally more reserved than his first. Balthazar privately hoped he wasn't expected to keep up.

"…Ariana had a habit of breaking hearts. An ex-lover came after her and stabbed her to death. They called me in to try healing her, but it was too late. Then she woke up and scared the hell out of me. They managed to hush the whole thing up."

"It wasn't her first death, though?" Connor leaned against the counter with a quiet clunk, then extracted the katana from his coat and tried again more comfortably. Balthazar chose to ignore the sword being propped against his counter.

"No, she'd been around a couple centuries. Let's see… the next one I met was a man. Can't remember his name, I only knew him a week. That was in Africa, around 1600."

Connor rubbed his jaw with a sandpaper sound. "It wasn't Kastigir?"

"Could've been." He shrugged, racking his memory without success. "I was lost, he helped me find my way to the coast and taught me some of the language. Isuzulu." Balthazar glanced around and pulled out chairs for them magically.

Connor was watching him with intent thought, but the shifting chairs distracted him. "Don't you do _anything_ the normal way?" The immortal sat in one, regardless.

"I'm actually pretty conservative compared to most sorcerers." He sat, working on the scotch again and feeling surprisingly relaxed.

"In that case it's a miracle you're not on the evening news."

"We're good at modifying memories." He smirked. "The last immortal I knew before you was called Gannet Kearnes. Young, and he'd had his first death at fifteen, poor kid."

"Immortals have a lot more memory…" Connor gave a sympathetic wince. "Young is good- I was probably lucky that way, but not _that_ young…"

"I don't know what happened to him. He had a teacher, at least."

Connor nodded. "I spent my first few years without one."

He smiled nostalgically. "…Merlin took me in when I was twelve."

"How do you know if you're a sorcerer? Are you born to it?"

"Things happen for you. And things come to you, sometimes." His gaze was going distant with memory, and he knew it.

"It must be hard for the new ones, now. I feel bad for new immortals. Swords aren't common anymore, and I'll bet thinking you can do magic gets you put in the psycho ward."

"You'd be surprised. There are conventions. Layers of truth covered by layers of lies."

"Conventions?" For an immortal, the idea was probably foreign. Most of them hunted each other, and a convention of immortals would only end in bloodshed and lightning.

"I don't attend. And there aren't many practitioners of the true art, mostly dabblers. Still, it's impressive."

Connor looked thoughtful. "You can choose… _not_ to live as a sorcerer, can't you?"

He smiled sadly, realizing it was an option no immortal of Connor's kind ever got. "Yes… most of us get a choice."

Nodding, Connor drained his glass and refilled it, then glanced at Balthazar's, which was only half-empty. "So tell me about Merlin."

"I couldn't even read when he took me in. My father died in a fire, my mother in childbirth… I'm sure I was a handful." He watched a little ruefully as Connor topped off his glass.

"You're better behaved now?" He smirked as he sat back again.

"Oh, much." Balthazar smiled and took a gulp. "Merlin was a genius, but he was patient with us. And he relied on us." There was a quiet pause as both of them settled in deeper, drinking. "…He maybe relied on us too much, actually." Balthazar sighed. "There were three of us. Me, Horvath, and… Veronica." He took a bigger gulp of scotch, starting to feel the need for it. The immortal across from him was watching with quiet sympathy, and as unhappy as the story was, Balthazar felt it begin to pour out into the space between them. His mouth twitched into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "We fought together for a long time. Merlin cast the immortality spell on us all. It… has limits, but they haven't been tested fully. We were close, but in time Veronica and I…" He sighed.

Connor seemed to echo his expression, and took a long, thoughtful swallow of scotch. "She was the first, and the only?" His voice was quiet with understanding.

"Exactly. She wanted nothing so much as a normal life, and I wanted to give her that. I don't think Horvath even quite understood. He betrayed Merlin, turned to Morgana- because of us. He let Morgana into the Keep. Hundreds of people died, and Merlin was mortally wounded. But Veronica absorbed Morgana's soul in order to save my life." He emptied the glass unhappily. "…Morgana started to kill her from the inside. The only way to save her was to trap them both inside a doll. The Grimhold."

Connor picked up the bottle and leaned forward, refilling Balthazar's glass before he spoke. "There's… still some way to bring her back?"

"I've spent the last millennium searching for Merlin's successor. Only he or she can destroy Morgana and free Veronica."

Frowning, Connor topped off his own drink. "How do you find them?"

"Merlin's ring. It will react when I find the right one. I've been _**everywhere**_." He shook his head.

"You said sorcerers do funny things even before they're discovered. Won't somebody that important stand out?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." He shrugged helplessly. "I've talked to holy men, children worshipped by their own tribes, none of them have recognized the ring or made it react."

"Were _you_ one of those, before?"

"Worshipped?" He laughed. "Not even close. I had a thing for birds. I don't know."

"Then why should they be? Immortals sound special, but I was a nobody." Connor gave a raspy chuckle. "I'm still nobody, just older."

"I've talked to nobodies, too." He took another drink.

"Maybe they're just not here yet." Connor was pouring his third glass, but he looked much steadier than Balthazar felt. He'd never questioned before if the amazing healing ability of immortals applied to something like this.

"Evidently not. It's a long time to be waiting around, though. And worse for her."

"I've met immortals older than you. My teacher was older than you, and that was over four hundred years ago." Connor took a gulp, and his expression sobered. "But I'm sorry. For you and for her."

He grunted and rubbed the stone on his ring.

"Is anyone else looking, too?"

"No. I've had students- more than a dozen- but it's not their task. The last one's dead now, anyway."

Connor frowned. "It always hurts to outlive a student…"

"It's a little different for us. For me, at least. My students have all been mortal. I had a son once, too. Adopted. South America, close to the Andes."

Connor glanced up, eyes narrowed slightly in a frown. "Can't sorcerers have children?"

"…Yes. But there's never been another woman. How could there be, when she's still alive, waiting for me to set her free?" His eyes were going misty, but he smiled. "I still have a necklace I meant to give her."

Connor slowly slumped again, nodding, and drained his own glass. He refilled it silently.

Struggling to revive the mood for both their sakes, Balthazar found himself telling stories about his childhood, mistakes he made in magic, and some of the weirder artifacts in the shop. As the afternoon lengthened into evening he began to find the details slipping, along with his own words. Connor ribbed him lightly about a lack of tolerance, and he threatened to levitate the immortal upside-down in retaliation, but following through was too much effort. It was true that Connor had drunk more than half the bottle himself, and but Balthazar was still mildly surprised when he noticed it was empty. He couldn't summon up any more than mild surprise, but watched his guest wander off into the night with his head happily buzzing. He couldn't be sure if Connor was walking a tad unsteadily, or if he was merely seeing the pavement roll and sway.

The hangover the next morning was unpleasant, but far from the first he'd ever had, and he'd long ago learned a few magical concoctions to cure it. A few days later he received a phone call from Rachel, sheepishly concerned, because she had only just heard that he'd suffered a drinking session with Connor. He was both pleased and amused over her concern, but reassured her he was fine. Then, riding the wave of cheer that she and her strange father seemed to inspire in him, he offered to take her out to lunch. It was a purely platonic invitation, but he was beginning to think he needed more time out of the shop. Over the phone he could almost hear her blush, but she seemed to take it the right way, and warily asked if she should drive over to get him. It seemed his old-fashioned habits had given her the impression he might not own a car, or perhaps even know what to do with one. He volunteered to pick her up instead, then spent the next half hour shaving and making an effort to tame his hair and generally look presentable.

Rachel stepped out of Nash Antiques in one of her neat suits, locking up for lunch, and eyed the Rolls Royce with a smile. "And I'll bet you've had it from new, too."

"Of course." Balthazar opened the passenger door for her. "Do you like Italian?"

"That sounds wonderful." She stepped in gracefully, and trailed an admiring hand along the car's interior.

The place he took her to was upscale, but not overly pricey. He asked after Connor and made small talk, more socially skilled than the immortal. She told him that Connor was out that day, and admitted that he was often either out, or brooded upstairs in the apartment above the shop. He handled the business side of things, she explained, but only dealt with the occasional special customer. Balthazar wondered how such a man had raised a woman of such sparkling friendliness and social grace. She mentioned two part-time employees that helped run the store, and she seemed content with her work, but it was clearly a relief to have someone she could talk to so openly.

Balthazar encouraged her to talk about herself and Connor, friendly in his own slightly dour way. She seemed not to mind his deadpan sense of humor, and in time he fell into telling her a little about his youth in Arthur's time and some of the people he knew.

As they moved on to childhood, Rachel seemed happy to talk, giving hints of a childhood spent moving after each graduation and growing up around the mercurial but adoring father Connor made. She mentioned visits from her 'uncle' Duncan, another immortal and apparently also a MacLeod. Witnessing a few of their drinking sessions was what had made her concerned Connor would put Balthazar under the table, one way or another. She seemed entranced by his stories, though, forgetting the time and looking utterly swept away. While she seemed to know the harsh realities of more savage times, it was not in the firsthand way that Connor did.

Balthazar smilingly reassured her he could handle Connor, he just had a very normal, mortal tolerance for alcohol. He was the first one to notice the time and escort her back to the shop, tentatively mentioning that he'd be happy to spend time with her again. She was sweet, although he related to her as merely a friend. Before they parted though, with a smile that admitted he knew how cheesy it sounded, he told her she was prettier than Guinevere was. She blushed over the compliment, and kissed him on the cheek. Patting his hand, she informed him he was an honorary uncle now.

Touched, he thanked her for the honor, and parted with a tip of his hat and a grin.


	5. Giving thanks for scotch

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

5. Giving thanks for scotch

Connor's visits to the Arcana Cabana were sporadic, but friendly in a brash and taciturn way, and Rachel made the occasional lunch date. Returning the social effort, Balthazar dropped into Nash Antiques occasionally, sending Connor an antique vase he'd thoroughly disenchanted but thought they could sell or use, and taking Rachel to the museum and the park.

It was on a dreary November evening that Connor called Balthazar up and invited him over, with a hint of forced manners. The immortal seemed to veer between snarky and brooding, and this sounded like one of his more brooding days. Trying to ignore the tone, Balthazar asked what the occasion was and if he should bring anything.

Connor told him he already had the whiskey, and to just bring some of his stories, then hung up abruptly. Past incidents had taught Balthazar that the immortal's phone manners needed work, so it didn't seem worth worrying over the sudden end to the call.

He arrived in his usual attire, mildly concerned but casual. The shop was close to closing, and Rachel wasn't there, but the young man who was seemed to know that 'Mr. Nash' was expecting a visitor. Balthazar was sent up in the elevator, which opened out on a broad landing overlooking a spacious apartment. Windows along one wall spanned the two-story height of the place, but the only light they had to let in was grey and dim. Connor was a dozen feet away on the landing, leaning against the railing, lost in thought. Clad only in jeans and a sweater, barefoot, he held a mostly-empty glass of scotch, already.

"You look serious." Balthazar removed his hat.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?" Connor frowned and straightened slowly to look at his guest.

"You tell me." He raised an eyebrow, trying to let the snappishness slide. "Is something up?"

Connor seemed to consider this and shrugged, but his eyes said there was plenty on his mind. Turning away, he led the way to the open metal staircase down. "Come on downstairs."

"All right." Blake followed mildly, wondering where this was headed.

"It feels like Scotland weather…" He murmured as they went down, glancing at the rain through the high windows. The main room was huge, with a few groupings of furniture and a big open kitchen, but there were still vast spaces of empty floor. It was a distinct contrast to Balthazar's crammed little place, but it made sense for someone who spent a lot of time practicing swinging swords around. "Put your coat anywhere." Connor moved to the island kitchen counter, where a bottle of Glenmorangie and another glass were waiting. There was a coat rack at the base of the stairs, and Connor's short leather jacket was on it, but his wet trenchcoat was half on a chair, half on the floor in its own puddle.

Balthazar slung his coat and hat onto the coat rack, then followed Connor into the kitchen. "Nice place…"

"Thanks. I had it renovated before we opened the antique store." He sounded distracted, but poured Balthazar a glass and handed it over. Then he drained his own and refilled it. Judging from the level in the bottle before he started to pour, he'd already had one or two.

Balthazar took a drink politely, watching him. "Rachel okay?"

Connor's expression seemed to darken a little further, but he was looking at the bottle rather than at Balthazar. "Fine. She left this morning. Won't be back until next week." His tone was flat, and he wandered off with the bottle and glass into the open living room. "She goes upstate every year, with friends, for Thanksgiving." Connor had a tendency to ignore holidays, particularly American ones.

"That's… nice. Or is it?" He followed. "I always go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving."

Connor gave a grunt. "It's… good for her." He seemed a little aimless, moving through the huge space. Towards the windows the floor dropped into a big seating area with nice leather couches, and a big tank with tropical fish, but Connor stopped six feet before he reached it and just stood staring out the windows a long moment.

"She's a lovely woman," Balthazar murmured, "In every sense of the word." He wandered over to look at the fish, and found himself thinking he should get a pet bird.

Connor took a gulp of scotch before answering quietly. "Yes. She's grown up beautiful, and smart. That's not my doing."

"You sure? You must have had some kind of positive influence. She loves you."

He shrugged, and rubbed the knuckle of his thumb against his forehead, still holding the glass. After another swallow he started slowly and awkwardly, "Her friends were here a few days ago, about the trip. I heard them talking…"

"About…?" Balthazar sipped his scotch and watched Connor intently.

The immortal was still staring out the window, finding his words, but his expression was slightly pained. "…About me. About how amazing it is I don't look a day older since they first met me."

"Ah." Suddenly he understood all too clearly. "Damn." Balthazar rubbed his chin.

"It's time to move on soon. I'm used to it." His gaze dropped to the floor. "And Rachel has a life here. I wasn't even sure she should come with me the last time I moved, to here."

Balthazar sighed. "You haven't talked to her yet, I take it?"

"Of course not. But we always knew it would come to this. We've talked about _that_ before… years ago."

"Hmm. Well, I've got another couple decades here, barring incident. I'll keep an eye on her. I hate to see you go."

"Will you? Please?" The look he suddenly turned on Balthazar was utterly wretched, as intense as if he'd just grabbed his lapels and begun sobbing on him.

Startled, the sorcerer slowly set his glass aside on a table, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Like she was my own sister. I know it's rough." He smiled weakly.

The expression on Connor's face highlighted just how young he must have been at his first death. "She likes you. You're better at talking to her…"

"Enh." He shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know about that, but I do my best."

Connor looked down, then took a gulp of scotch that was nearly half the glass. "Thank you. She means the world to me." He rubbed a knuckle against one eye. "After Heather, I tried to tell myself I wouldn't get so attached again…"

"Ahh. But it's different with a child…"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "We always wanted children, but immortals can't…"

Balthazar patted his back awkwardly. "You haven't told me much about Heather…"

Connor nodded and took a moment to compose himself, emptying his glass, then he pulled away gently. "In here…" He headed for a set of heavy wooden doors, already ajar.

Balthazar followed, leaving his glass behind.

He nudged one door open wider with his foot and walked straight in. The room was circular, with a pit in the center fitted with curved benches, and Connor dropped heavily onto one. The walls were utterly covered, as crammed as Balthazar's shop. There were paintings, swords, clothes, flags, photos, and every form of memento possible on wire shelves. On one side of the door there was a swathe of tartan, and the ragged, molting remains of a cloak of peacock feathers on the other. It was Connor's entire life, scattered across every available inch of wall.

Immediately distracted, Balthazar began circling the room, silent and thoughtful. His hand slipped into his pocket, where Veronica's necklace was waiting for the moment.

On the shelf close beside the tartan were a handful of nicely forged articles, a lady's broach, and a small envelope. Connor gestured in their direction, then refilled his glass. "When I came back to life, my clan drove me out. They almost had me burned for witchcraft. I wandered… until I met Heather and her father."

Balthazar studied the eclectic collection one item at a time, letting Connor talk. He didn't touch anything, unwilling to cause any damage. His gaze took in items from Scotland, Japan, all over Europe and America, even a few African items. There were photos, many with Connor in them in earlier dress, and another man appeared in too wide a range of costumes and time to be mortal. One section was dominated by pictures of Rachel's life, from a little girl into a woman graduating college.

Connor wasn't looking at any of it. "Once I met her, I couldn't leave. Ever. I stayed with her until the very end."

Balthazar looked at him. "…She had a good life with you?" He wasn't sure if he should be envious or sympathetic.

"I hope so. I wish I could have given her children. But we were content." He drank, gaze distant. "I inherited her father's smithy. After time took her… I left Scotland."

The sorcerer let out a long breath, relieved to hear that she at least had a full life and a peaceful death. He came to sit next to Connor.

"I've met other women…" He gestured vaguely toward a painting of one, "But… it's never been the same. It never works out."

"I know what you mean." Balthazar said quietly.

Connor was silent for a few minutes, drinking, and spoke again only after he'd started on another glass. "I… haven't made any arrangements yet. I'll leave the shop to her…"

Balthazar had left his glass in the other room, but he teleported it to hand and drank now. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and set the bottle on the floor between their feet. "I have the money to do anything, even leaving half of it to her, but… I don't know."

"Mm. Provence is nice this time of year…" He patted Connor's shoulder again.

Connor raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know what to _do_ anymore. I've been a blacksmith, a sea captain, an antiques dealer… and a warrior in between… but most of those jobs aren't what they were."

"You could try teaching. Maybe not one on one, people _do_ get attached, but a class?"

"…A class on what?"

"Languages, history, martial arts, antiques?" He shrugged.

"I'm not that good at martial arts." Connor looked gloomy. "All I've ever wanted was a family…"

Balthazar sipped his scotch. "I think you're selling yourself short. But if you _**want**_ to get drunk and depressed for a night, that's fine."

For a long moment Connor scowled at him wordlessly, then he emptied his glass in one long swallow with an almost contemptuous expression.

"Want to learn magic?" Balthazar deadpanned.

He looked wary. "What could I do with it?"

"Depends. You've got some raw ability; not sure how much."

"…As a sorcerer? You're joking…" He refilled his glass carefully, and something in the way he moved suggested he was starting to feel the effects.

As a distraction, it seemed to be proving effective, so Balthazar shrugged and went on. "I felt you poking around when I set up the wards. You could probably manage at least shields and glamours, if you could learn to focus properly."

"I wasn't… How do you mean?" Evidently the immortal had been relatively unaware of what he was doing. "Ramirez… tried to teach me to harness the quickening, to feel it and use it. Is that the same thing?"

The sorcerer made a wobbly gesture with his hand. "Not quite, but along the same lines."

"I didn't really try it anymore after he was killed…" Connor leaned back, sipping the scotch more slowly now. "That was a long time ago."

"Mortal humans can harness the elements when they're born with the ability to use the entirety of their brains, rather than the ten percent most people use. Immortals, so far as I can guess, generate more powerful electrical signals with their brains and nervous systems. Both states allow for heightened sensitivity to certain energies."

Connor gave him a slightly bleary stare, then a raspy chuckle. "So what you're saying is I'm not that smart, but I make up for it by having a quickening?"

"I wasn't sure you'd catch that." He smirked.

"I might be a barbarian, but I'm not as dumb as I look." Balthazar seemed to have succeeded in distracting Connor; he looked amused now.

He smiled. "Well thank god for small favors." Balthazar finished his glass and got up. "You want to learn a shield or a glamour?"

"I can try. Maybe I should teach _you_ something about sword fighting, sometime." He seemed a little unsteady getting to his feet. Nearly half the bottle was gone, and Balthazar had only had one glass.

"Done that, actually, but I wouldn't bank on me winning the Olympic Gold in fencing anytime soon." Balthazar eyed him. "Might help you to have a ring, but that can wait." Connor was clearly too drunk to clear his mind properly, anyway.

"Doesn't it have to be a special ring?" The immortal glanced around, swaying very slightly. "Not in here."

He hadn't been planning on letting it get destructive, but Balthazar nodded mildly and headed back to the living room. He showed off a little, sending glamours of birds and leaves fluttering around the room, then tried to teach Connor how to make a weak plasma bolt, not really expecting it to be effective. Halfway through Connor had another drink, which likely didn't help, but when he did manage a little lightning crackle he seemed to consider it a success. Considering a normal man might have passed out from the drink by then, he wasn't doing half bad. Balthazar cheered him on, and helped himself to another glass, and by the evening's end they were both in a sorry state, but at least they hadn't damaged anything.

"I gotta get a cab." Balthazar snickered at last. "Drinking and teleporting is never a good idea."

Connor was staring at him intently, and after a long moment a crackle of lightning shorted out the lamp beside the sorcerer. The immortal laughed. "Why, where did you end up last time?"

Balthazar started at the miniature lightning bolt, then laughed. "Bastard! I was lucky, I just got dumped in the camel stalls. Now I had a student once who left some vital parts behind. That was hard to fix."

"Aw, don't complain, I missed anyway." Connor grinned at him shamelessly. "Don't leave any vital parts in _**my**_ house. The phone's on the desk." He gestured loosely.

Balthazar made his way over to the desk unsteadily. "Watch yourself, man. Turn you into a goat."

He frowned briefly, some memory flickering in his eyes, then stuck out his tongue. "I'd make you sorry. Goats have horns."

"Frog, then." Balthazar gave what he hoped was the right information to the cab company, hung up, and leaned on the back of a chair.

Connor rose from his seat, a little uncoordinated. "I'll walk you down, this neighborhood isn't good at night."

"Or an aardvark. I always wanted to try that." Balthazar blinked, registering the offer belatedly. "Mm? Thanks."

"An aardvark? I'd starve!" Connor came over to help Balthazar, although both men were slightly clumsy on their feet.

"Termites aren't half bad- oh, I guess there aren't many in New York, though." They made their uncoordinated way downstairs and out front.

"This place is brick and glass." Connor waited with Balthazar until the cab showed up, and took the sorcerer's farewell thump on the back for his trouble without falling over. The sorcerer admonished him to call when the hangover had faded, and watched Connor wave him off from the doorway.

He regretted that last comment. It was only nine-thirty the next morning when his phone rang.

"Arcana Cabana… oh god where's the lemon balm…" There was a crash as he fumbled around, half awake and head spinning sickeningly.

"Did you turn me into a goat last night?" Connor sounded suspicious, but completely and sharply sober.

"You were already being a jackass, it seemed unnecessary."

"Oh? _**How's Your Head?**_"

"Ow! Damnit!" Balthazar banged the phone against the desk a couple of times, which not only hurt his head worse, but also failed to drown out the raspy chuckle before Connor hung up.

Two hours later, the front of Nash Antiques was besieged by a flock of various kinds of birds. They didn't leave a mess, but made a furious racket for ten minutes before mysteriously dispersing. Connor cursed at them, but the store itself was closed for the holiday and there was no one on the street to notice. It took him most of the day to realize that it probably hadn't been a natural occurrence.


	6. Gifts of comfort and joy

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_This story begins set almost six months before the events of the first 'Highlander' movie._

**Sword and Sorcery **

6. Gifts of comfort and joy

After Rachel returned from her Thanksgiving trip, she insisted on taking both men out to dinner. For this Connor was shaved and neatly dressed, but moody and distracted. Rachel seemed to take it in stride.

Balthazar wore a suit, and tried to be sweet to Rachel, and only rib Connor lightly. After their last drinking session, the immortal rose to the teasing in kind, managing a few wry smiles. His general air of brooding quiet was impossible to miss, though. Blessedly, Rachel seemed completely ignorant of their recent drunken evening, and Balthazar was not about to enlighten her. He did his best to keep the mood light, enjoying the company. The woman chatted happily, made gentle attempts to draw Connor out, and before they parted for the evening she insisted that Balthazar come see them at Christmas. He accepted gratefully, reflecting that his own place was far from ideal for entertaining, or he would have invited them over himself.

December was busy for Nash Antiques, although Rachel made the effort to have lunch with Balthazar once. Connor seemed to be 'out on business' more often than not, although what that business was he apparently didn't share with either of them. The week before, Balthazar received a formal invitation to visit on Christmas Day.

He arrived happily, bearing a basket of presents and a bottle of wine, and found Rachel waiting at the door to meet him. She wore a red knit dress, but looked far more informal and less polished than usual, and she hugged him warmly once he was in the door. Smiling, he hugged back and kissed the back of her hand. "Merry Christmas." Her comfortably casual air made him wonder if he'd crossed some threshold of familiarity.

"Merry Christmas! We've got a full-size tree upstairs. I haven't managed to talk him into that in years!" She led him up, chattering gaily.

He smiled slowly. "I didn't bother with a tree, myself. Just some holly."

"Oh, well you're always welcome to share ours." She squeezed his arm, and opened the grating as the elevator stopped. There was sparkly tinsel rope around the railings of the landing and stairs. Balthazar smiled approvingly at the decorations.

Rachel chattered all the way down the stairs, and offered him eggnog or coffee or tea. The tree was by the windows, and it was enormous, but it was still dwarfed by the vast loft. Connor stood nearby it in a new sweater and jeans, barefoot again. He had a glass of eggnog in hand, and was staring out the tall windows in a distracted fashion, but tuned to give Balthazar a quiet smile.

He smiled back, nodded, and asked Rachel for coffee as he set the basket under the tree. While she was gone, he went over to Connor's side. "Merry Christmas."

Up close the eggnog smelled like whiskey, and it was only late morning. "Merry Christmas." Connor tilted his head to look up at the tree, which was a good eight feet tall at least. "It was hell to get up here, but Rachel begs me to get a real tree every year…" He trailed off and sipped his drink, smiling a little sadly.

Balthazar nodded, trying not to think of the conversation before Thanksgiving. "I could have helped, you know."

"You'd just shrink the tree down pocket-size or something, wouldn't you…"

Rachel returned with a tray with three coffees, cream, and sugar. "He's had just one of those little ones in a pot every year, after the first Christmas here. And that's only because I poke him to get _something_."

"No," He affected a wounded look. "I'd carry the pointy end." Balthazar winked at Rachel.

Connor gave a soft chuckle.

"See? You'd better remember that for next year!" Rachel grinned. "Come and sit, you've got presents." She added over her shoulder to Balthazar.

"What? Why?" He looked embarrassed, but pleased.

Connor fell quiet again, frowning slightly into his eggnog.

"What do you mean 'why?' Because it's Christmas, silly!" She smiled, but glanced at Connor. "And you come sit, too. If you don't stop brooding I'll decorate you in tinsel and lights."

"I'd like to see that." Balthazar smiled slightly, but he, too, was watching Connor.

"You wouldn't dare." It was half a growl, but he smirked and joined them on one of the couches facing the tree.

Rachel pulled a few boxes from beneath the branches, and piled five at Balthazar's feet. There were other boxes already open under the tree, showing clothing and other gifts.

He was overwhelmed by even five, after centuries of long, lonely winters. Almost shyly he helped himself to coffee, uncertain how to even start.

"She's making up for not celebrating Hanukkah this year." Connor looked amused.

"…Oh." He couldn't tell from the immortal's tone if it was a joke or not. Smiling awkwardly, he sipped his coffee for a moment, then picked up the closest box, turning it over in his hands. It was big and flat, not too heavy, neatly wrapped with a tag that just said B.B. in Rachel's elegant script.

"It isn't that much." Rachel smiled sheepishly and fixed her own coffee, and the third cup with just cream. "That one's yours papa. Don't think I don't know what you put in your eggnog."

Connor rolled his eyes.

"That's what eggnog's _**for**_." Balthazar defended Connor, amused. He eyed the tag and unwrapped the paper carefully, half trying to save it.

"I'll get you some, later." Connor grinned, but took his coffee to appease Rachel.

Inside the first package was a dark green sweater, which Rachel murmured was from both of them, but it seemed a safe bet she had been the one to do the shopping. He gave her a warm smile and thanked them both, privately reflecting how oddly domestic it felt to be given a new sweater on Christmas day.

Connor had sunk back deep in the sofa, a cup in each hand, watching silently. For the moment he looked relatively content.

Rachel, on the other hand, was more engaged and watched him open each gift with sparkling eyes. There was a box full of assorted teas and tinned cookies, and a crocheted scarf and pair of gloves in variegated grey-blue yarn that Rachel shyly admitted to having made for him. He was deeply touched, thanking her gratefully. From Connor there was a heavy bottle of scotch, predictably, but the last box was long and slim, and nestled in velvet inside was a long, thin, bone-handled knife. The design looked much like what he'd seen of Nakano's work, but also unlike anything of his. The design carved all over the handle looked more like Celtic knotwork than any Eastern design. Awed, he looked it over reverently for several minutes.

Connor watched, a little anxiously. "It's… not as good as any of his, sorry… and it's old."

The words sunk in, and he met Connor's eyes with a look of understanding. "…It's remarkable. I've never-" He looked away with a small grin. "Thank you."

"…You're welcome." Connor looked down at his bare feet and tried to twine his toes together, suddenly struck shy.

"Merry Christmas." Rachel glowed, watching them both.

Balthazar laughed softly, happy, and took another gulp of coffee before fetching his basket from under the tree. There was a bottle of wine, very old and a good year, and clementines and persimmons under the gifts. He handed a card to Rachel. "Open it carefully."

Connor looked over the wine approvingly, grinning, then started in on a clementine.

"Thank you!" Rachel said before she'd even taken the card. She opened it carefully over her lap, afraid something might fall out, and gasped as light shone from within the paper, like sunlight through trees. There was a soft, chilly breeze. Birdsong filled the room, and a dozen tiny paper birds fluttered out from the pages; wrens in miniature. They circled both Rachel and Connor, then settled in the branches of the Christmas tree and became little brown origami pieces. Rachel turned her head this way and that to follow them until they landed, eyes wide. "Oh! Oh!" She looked almost teary. "I've never seen anything so beautiful!" The card in her hands was left only with the initials B.B. and the impression of his ring in sealing wax.

Connor looked impressed, but smirked. "I like _**these**_ birds…"

Balthazar steepled his hands and rested his chin against them, pleased. "Magic isn't always practical… but it _can_ be beautiful." He smiled warmly at Rachel, then flashed a devilish grin at Connor, knowing exactly which birds the immortal was thinking of.

There were four smaller wrapped packages in the basket, two for each of them. Rachel unwrapped sweet-smelling candles of beeswax and herbs, and an enameled bracelet with a lily-and-rose design. She put it on right away, thanking Balthazar repeatedly and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Connor's packages contained a whetstone and oil, and a battered little book of faery stories, leather-bound and illuminated. The immortal thanked him, then grew deeply absorbed in the book. His expression as he read was almost childlike, and for a few minutes he looked very young, to Balthazar's eyes.

Deeply content, he watched them with their gifts. "'The Flower of Life' was my favorite."

Connor drew his legs up and looked at the index, curled up like a child. "I _think_ I've heard that one…"

"Did you want lunch? We're making a big dinner later." Rachel smiled, looking blissfully happy.

"I'm hungry." Connor piped up, still reading. He'd had several clementines already.

"I might just eat cookies." Balthazar smiled at Rachel.

"You're both terrible!" She laughed. "There's cold cuts, I think I might make a sandwich."

"That'd probably be healthier." The sorcerer forced himself to get up. "I'll help."

He and Rachel got only a short way toward the kitchen before Connor vaulted the sofa behind them and bounded past like a deer, sure-footed on the hardwood floor. Balthazar started with a faint gasp, then snorted with laughter.

"Oh!" Rachel jumped, then laughed and chased after him like a little girl.

Balthazar let them both do the running around, but was thoroughly amused to watch. Was this what it had been like for Rachel, then, to be raised by a man who was in some part forever nineteen years old?

Connor beat them both to the kitchen doorway, then turned to taunt them, grinning.

Rachel ducked under his arm into the kitchen, using her smaller size to her advantage. "Ha!"

The immortal looked a little surprised, then laughed. "Does that mean you're making my sandwich?"

"No, because I won! But I'll make B.B.'s."

"You may have to, if he won't let me in." Balthazar strolled up, chuckling.

Connor rolled his eyes and stood aside. "I'll be nice because you're an old man."

He reached out and gave Connor a gentle noogie with a deadpan expression. "Respect your elders."

"Why should I start now?" The friendly thump he gave Balthazar on the back made the sorcerer stagger.

"Now boys, no violence before lunch." Rachel smiled, laying out packages of meat and cheese, and condiments.

"Oof!" Balthazar was amused. "Save the violence for cocktail hour?"

"You should see him and Duncan together. I think they hurt each other worse when they're being friendly than when they practice sword-fighting." She gestured to the sandwich fixings, giving Balthazar a questioning look.

"I never give him anything he can't recover from." Connor leaned in the doorway.

"Dangerous." Balthazar clucked his tongue, and despite her offer he moved in to make himself a chicken sandwich.

"I am not. Except when it matters." Connor's earlier brooding air seemed to have evaporated, and he was grinning.

Rachel clucked her tongue.

Balthazar was in a good mood, and after his sandwich he fell into reminiscing about Christmas traditions from his childhood, comparing notes with Connor. Rachel seemed enchanted by the stories from their pasts, curling up against her father and watching them both adoringly. The highlander's stories revealed a muddled mix of Christianity that was embraced without managing to stamp out the Pagan traditions. A few times he slipped into Gaelic in his attempts to describe it, and had to struggle for translation, the Scottish brogue dredged up and showing thicker in his accent while he was lost in reverie.

Later, Rachel opened the lid of the grand piano and charmingly coaxed them into carols. Balthazar sang in a beautiful baritone, but despite her compliments on his voice he felt long out of practice. Rachel's voice was good, and her piano playing even better, as she admitted Connor had insisted on lessons for her as a girl. The immortal himself could carry a tune, but his naturally raspy voice was not ideally suited to singing, and he obligingly let them drown him out.

Eventually they moved back into the kitchen, so Connor and Rachel could put dinner on. Balthazar offered to help, but in the end he had to admit that he was only really good for setting the table. To his mild surprise, Connor took the lead in cooking, capable and sure. The mood from the carols continued and as he worked he tried a song in French, which Rachel picked up on with familiarity. He followed it with a very old carol in Gaelic, which was lost on her but achingly familiar to Balthazar. Rachel brought his gift of wine to the table, letting the sorcerer serve it, and they sat down to a feast. Balthazar found he had a healthy appetite, but it was the company he was truly thriving on.

All the same, Connor's cooking was awfully good.

Rachel confessed that their Christmases were usually quiet, and said that Balthazar had made the occasion. The last Christmas she could remember being this boisterous was with Duncan.

In explanation, Connor said Duncan was out on the west coast with an antique shop of his own and 'some kind of promising long-term girlfriend'.

"You should invite them sometime." Rachel prompted cheerfully.

"I don't know if she… _knows_." Connor said quietly, and for a moment he seemed lost in thought, his voracious appetite briefly on hold.

"Never know if you don't ask him." Balthazar put in. Without relatives or students, his own holidays had been lonely for a very long time.

Connor shrugged. "I'll get to it." He helped himself to seconds, and even thirds, then promptly dozed off on the couch when they all left the table for the living room again.

Ignoring her father sprawled comfortably across the furniture, Rachel put on a Christmas album and came to sit beside Balthazar. "You have to come every year."

He smiled, wistfully, and patted her shoulder. "If I'm invited, I'll be here."

She nodded, and gave a smile that was also strangely wistful. Connor mumbled in Gaelic in his sleep. At the end of the night Balthazar went home with a warm glow, and enough leftovers to eat for a week.


	7. Heads will roll

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Okay, Highlander fans will recognize pretty quick we're hitting the start of the first movie, here. Those of you who haven't seen Highlander… should! Just for Connor's impossible accent and raspy chuckle if nothing else._

**Sword and Sorcery **

7. Heads will roll

In January, business pulled Balthazar away from New York, but on his return he took his new friends out to dinner, and continued calls and visits. In February he sent Rachel a dozen pink roses and a box of candy. She seemed delighted and grateful, but overwhelmed since Connor had showered her with roses and candy as well. Balthazar told her a woman could never have too many flowers, and joked that he'd almost sent Connor some, too.

The immortal pulled him into a drinking session or two, but he seemed to be absent often, possibly making plans, and his general mood seemed increasingly withdrawn and distracted. In March, over lunch, Rachel quietly mentioned that this was an annual habit with the approach of Heather's birthday. The explanation for his depression may have suited her, but Balthazar could think of additional things that might be on Connor's mind. He told Rachel to call him if they needed anything.

No phone call came, but on the last of March there was a front-page story of a man decapitated in the parking deck of Madison Square Gardens, with a possible connection to a similar crime two nights earlier in Newark.

Immediately concerned, he called Rachel to see what was happening and warn Connor to keep his head down and let him know next time if he needed help with clean-up.

When she answered, Rachel was quietly distressed. "The police had him, last night. He's here now, and he says they don't have anything on him, but…"

Balthazar tried to picture Connor in a police interrogation, with his hair-trigger temper. "Ngh. Well, I won't harass him, but keep me informed?"

"Oh B.B., we escaped attention for so long…"

"Hey," He said gently, "Hang in there. The police are no problem, and he hasn't lasted almost five hundred years out of pure luck. It'll be okay."

He could hear the slow breath as she composed herself. "I know. You take care, too…"

"Call me night or day. I'll be here."

"Thank you. We'll… be all right." After a polite good-bye she hung up, leaving him with worry that hung like a mist over the day.

When he was beginning to breathe easier again, two days later, the paper showed up with news of a third beheading, this time with eyewitnesses, and a police sketch. The artist's rendition that stared out at him was not by any stretch of the imagination Connor's face. Deeply concerned but wary, this time he went to visit them in person. Rachel wasn't there, and when the employee who was called down 'Mr. Nash', Connor stepped out of the elevator looking ready to kill.

"…Oh. It's you." The tone was quiet and flat, and Connor's expression didn't change.

Balthazar held up a hand defensively. "Just me." He confirmed gently. "Got a few minutes?"

There was a pause, as if the immortal was considering simply sending him away, before he stepped back. "Come on up." When the elevator rose out of the view of the ground floor he said, "You're lucky, the police just stopped watching me this morning." He was still radiating an aura of repressed rage, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"You look like hell." He sighed. "Is there anything I can do?"

"…Shield Rachel, somehow? I sent her home…" His tone softened at that. She had a room there in his loft, but seemed to prefer the independence of her uptown apartment. Connor pushed the grating open and stalked out across the landing. "That was Kastigir, last night. He was here to visit me. We had drinks, and parted outside the bar…"

"Consider it done. I'll stop by her place today." Balthazar frowned at the news. "…Hell. I'm sorry."

Connor led the way down the stairs and dropped onto a couch. His sword, oil, and whetstone were out. "…It's Kurgan. He's here for me."

Balthazar perched on the arm of a chair. "You haven't mentioned him before."

"…Maybe not by name." He picked up the sword, but it was clear he'd already sharpened it as much as it could possibly be sharpened, and in checking the blade he cut himself by accident. "He's the one that killed Ramirez, my teacher." He sucked on his finger briefly with a scowl. "He's the one that killed _**me**_."

"You have a score to settle, then." Balthazar rubbed his chin. "I kind of hate to see it, but… I wish you the best of luck."

"…Thanks." Connor gave an aggravated sigh and wiped his finger on his jeans. There was no trace of the cut left. "I owe it to Ramirez."

"Do you have plans, or is it his move?"

"I don't know where he is." Connor scowled. "But it's Heather's birthday. I promised her I'd light a candle, every year…"

"Do it, then. Just be prepared for him to find you. Should I go check on Rachel?"

"I'll be fine on holy ground. Would you?" Concern won through his anger. "I don't want him to find her. He's that much of a bastard…"

"I'll make sure she's safe." Balthazar nodded and stood.

"Balthazar… thank you." Connor sighed and rubbed his face.

"Mmh." He thumped the immortal gently on the back. "Just don't die, all right?"

Connor smiled up at him grimly. "I'm not planning on it." There was a glint in his eyes.

Balthazar nodded, understanding. "Call me when it's over. Or sooner if you need anything." He headed for the exit. Behind him, Connor rose and began moving through practice moves, so he saw himself out quietly.

Rachel opened the door warily when he arrived, then let him in with a hug.

"Connor told me what's going on. I thought I had better stop by." He hugged back and stroked her cheek gently.

Rachel leaned against him a moment. "How bad is it? He wouldn't tell me much…"

"He's not afraid, he's furious. That says something, but I'm not sure it's a good thing. What did he tell you?"

Rachel shrugged and moved away to fetch coffee. "This morning? Almost nothing, but I can make a few guesses. I know he went to see an old friend yesterday, and I know that's probably an immortal on the front page today. It's his friend that was killed, isn't it?" She gestured for him to sit. Her place was small, with elegant antique furnishings courtesy of Connor.

"Yes… Kastigir." He sat and sipped the coffee she'd brought. "Seems the killer is also an old acquaintance. He killed Connor's teacher…"

Her had flew to her mouth to cover a gasp. Possibly he'd just said too much. "That's _**Kurgan**_?"

He leaned over to put his hand on her shoulder, nodding slightly. "He wants you safe."

"Me? He's going to fight the man his own teacher couldn't defeat." She looked shaky now, which was probably why Connor hadn't told her.

"That was centuries ago. He's had time to learn plenty Ramirez didn't teach him."

She took a slow, shaky breath, getting a hold of herself. "Did he tell you about the woman?"

That brought his thoughts up short. "…Woman?" He raised an eyebrow, and assumed she didn't mean Heather.

Rachel picked up her coffee, hands shaking ever so slightly. "Brenda. I think she was looking for him over the… deaths." It seemed she couldn't bring herself to call them murders, knowing Connor was responsible. "But I think it's turned into something else."

"Really?" He was genuinely surprised. "How much does she know?"

"I don't know." Rachel frowned a little. "He talks to me less these days. But I don't think I've ever seen him look at a woman quite that way before."

Balthazar rubbed his chin. "…He didn't mention this at all. And I didn't see any woman there, but… I don't know, that might be good for him."

Smiling mildly, she nodded. "I know… you're both lonely, but you're so… calm about it. He's like a caged animal sometimes…" Rachel shook her head. "You both deserve someone." He couldn't quite tell if there was a note of jealousy or not.

He took her hand. "I'm waiting for someone. Someone specific. To be set free. Him… well, you know the story better than I do. It's different."

Rachel squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you have someone to wait for, at least."

Balthazar managed a weak smile, but he knew his gaze betrayed him, the thought that he'd been waiting for two of Connor's lifetimes wasn't helping.

"Oh…" Rachel leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm not saying the right thing at all…"

The touch made his smile more sincere. "No, no. You're sweet. Thank you." He sighed. "Listen, he asked me to keep an eye on you… he may be leaving here soon."

She closed her eyes suddenly and turned away, voice tight and quiet. "I don't want to hear about it."

He winced inwardly, and it occurred to him that she might know Connor too well not to have read the signs for herself before now. "…For what it's worth, he's… broken up about it." Balthazar stood and paced over to the window.

"_**He's**_ broken up about it?" Anger flared in her voice, sudden and sharp, but her next words were a little more restrained. "It's not fair, you know. He doesn't want to see me grow old, or get hurt, so that should make it all right for him to just walk away from me?"

"…I don't think it's that," He said, measured, not looking at her. "He has all the time in the world, but _you_ don't. He stayed with Heather her whole life, and I _guarantee_ some part of him feels guilty, wonders what she could have had if he hadn't been in the way." He swallowed hard. If Connor had wanted to cut the strings, he probably should have done it sooner. "It's not fair, you're right. And in some ways it's not natural, but… things don't always work out the way we plan."

Rachel seemed to be quietly composing herself. Her reflection in the window was looking down at hands folded in her lap. "Nobody can know what could have been, but I don't care if my life hasn't been normal, and I'll never regret he took me in." She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes delicately.

"…Don't you deserve someone, too, Rachel?" It was a gentle inquiry, almost plaintive.

"Haven't you ever heard it said all women look for someone like their father? How could anyone ever live up to him?" She gave him a watery smile. "I dated an immortal once, but that didn't end well."

He came over to sit next to her again, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again, answering primly. "Drink your coffee. You're not going anywhere, are you?"

He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her without looking. "No. I'm… settled here for at least another twenty years."

"Good." She tried to check her make-up carefully. "Connor always says we should try to live in the present. I refuse to live in fear of what might come."

He ran his hands over his face, feeling utterly miserable and desperate to hide it for her sake. "Right. Do you want me to stay a while?"

She watched him, and patted his arm. "I think… we should both talk about better things for a little while, don't you?"

He nodded. "Sure…" It was a sweet effort on her part, but he was completely unable to think of anything better for a moment, then fell lamely into musing about getting a pet bird.

Rachel's cheer was definitely forced, but she tried to make light conversation, too, encouraging him and wondering over whether she should get a pet, herself. She was still a little awkward and wistful by the time he politely took his leave. Balthazar left a light ward around her place, and tried to smile gently at her apologies, but he knew the expression was strained.

When he went home to his quiet, empty shop he sat down, and simply sat alone with his worries as the evening began to fall.

_Author's Note: Rachel's comment about having dated an immortal once is an idea given to me by the fanfic 'Hostages to Fortune' by Teresa Coffman, which is an absolutely excellent read but I don't think it's available on I do not know that author, and don't have her permission, but her story would easily mesh with this one and I recommend it to anyone wanting to see more of Connor and Rachel's sweet father/daughter relationship, with her uncle Duncan there for a visit too. I'd give the link if didn't keep eating it...  
_


	8. Never say goodbye

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

**Sword and Sorcery **

8. Never say goodbye

The Arcana Cabana remained closed for the next few days, newspapers piling up on the doorstep, and mail piling up inside beneath the mail slot. When Connor came knocking, three days later, it took Balthazar a good ten minutes to answer the door. He'd barely slept, and the immortal on his porch looked marginally better off, although he needed a shave and his eyes were shadowed.

Connor smiled weakly, searching Balthazar's face with a nervous gaze. "It's over."

The sorcerer closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again and nodded somberly. "Congratulations. Coming in?"

He shrugged, looking wary. "Do you want me to?"

Balthazar backed away, beckoning him in. "Have a seat. Coffee?" The shop was much neater than usual. Sleeplessness and nerves had resulted in a flurry of cleaning, for the sake of something to do.

"Sure… You look like you could use some, too." Connor followed him in and glanced around, but made no comment about the difference.

The door closed magically behind them and relocked itself. Balthazar made a beeline for the back of the store where he kept the coffee pot. It was already full, and he poured them each a cup and leaned against the counter.

"…What happened to you?" It was tactlessly blunt, but Connor wouldn't have asked if he didn't care.

He shrugged. "Every few decades it all gets to be too much. I hit my saturation point a couple days ago." He gulped his coffee.

Connor poured creamer in his own cup, and sat heavily on a stool. His movements were a little lethargic, but the witness descriptions in the paper put Kurgan at around six-foot-eight with a build to match. "…I'm sorry." Connor sipped his coffee, then simply held the cup, looking down into it.

"It happens." He waited a moment, then said stoically, "Well. What now?"

"There's… this woman…" Connor shook his head. "I'm going home."

He gave the ghost of a smile. "Rachel said. She must be pretty special."

Connor shrugged, suddenly sheepish. "Would you believe she's a sword expert?" He sobered again rapidly. "Kurgan kidnapped her. She saw the fight."

"She wasn't hurt, I hope…" Balthazar frowned in concern.

"No, she's all right… and I'd already told her the truth." He looked to the ceiling, his gaze seeking anything but Balthazar to focus on. "I thought I was trying to scare her off, but it didn't work out that way."

"Oh, Christ, what did you do?" He blinked, reading the guilt in the immortal's avoiding eyes.

"Do you mean…? Or after…" Connor looked extremely awkward. "I cut myself…" It was the understatement of the century.

"You're a terrible liar." He studied Connor, amused now. "Also a hopeless romantic."

"I am not. _That's_ Rachel. She said I need to stop… closing myself off to people." He gestured vaguely with the coffee cup, trying to cover his embarrassment with irritability.

Balthazar shook his head and refilled his own cup. "So you're running away to Scotland with this woman. I assume you'll write?"

"You don't have to say it like that!" Connor sniffed, sounding childish. "I will. And phone. I… can't stay here. The police can't pin anything on me, but they're not happy about it… especially now."

He nodded, looking away. "Understood. You've made arrangements with Rachel?"

"It's all hers. The shop. The building. She already has an account set up for her. I want to be sure she'll always have everything she needs."

He nodded again, and sighed. "Of course. She won't take it well, you know."

"I meant to… I tried to make a clean break." He shifted again, looking to his coffee. "She watched me go off to fight him… I can't do it. But she needs to stay here. It's not healthy for her, being around me all the time, having to keep all my secrets."

"You just… left her like that?" Balthazar studied him blandly. "You went off to the fight and haven't spoken to her since?"

Connor hunched lower, looking miserable. "I'll let her know… but I'm afraid I won't be able to leave…"

He put his mug down on the counter almost hard enough to shatter it. There was a moment of silence, then he ground out, "You'll be leaving with no teeth if you don't go apologize to her." Balthazar rubbed his temples. "Honestly, Connor…"

The highlander blinked and looked up at him with damp eyes, genuinely startled, then frowned. His expression hardened. "Should I just go now?"

"Don't be an idiot." He felt a headache blooming. "I _**understand**_, I do. But she doesn't have centuries worth of perspective, and you're the center of her world." An impossibly stubborn, socially dysfunctional center.

Connor seemed to wrestle with himself a long moment, then hunched up again. "…I'll go. I'll try…" He set his coffee mug down gently. He'd only had one sip.

"Good. Thank you. I appreciate that." Balthazar struggled to recover from his fit of pique.

Connor stood slowly, still worn out from the fight even for all his healing ability. "Am I to leave with ye angry at me, then?" He was frowning at the floor, tone carefully restrained.

"Oh, Connor…" Balthazar wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and hugged the sullen figure. "Stay in touch, and I won't be angry."

There was a solid bear hug in return, and he decided he was lucky Connor was tired or he might get his ribs cracked. The immortal held on for a very long moment and patted his back, then drew away looking sheepish, guilty, and on the verge of tears.

"Oof!" Balthazar thumped his back in return and managed a pained smile at his impossible friend. "…Here." He retreated to the nearest jewel case and opened it, taking out a small carved ivory dove. "Take this and give it to your new friend. For luck."

Connor swallowed hard and accepted it. "Brenda. Brenda Wyatt." After a moment's hesitation he gave Balthazar another, gentler hug, then shuffled back with an air of struggling to tear himself away.

The sorcerer nodded and accepted the hug, then punched Connor lightly in the shoulder and smiled, weak but sincere. "You know where to find me. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks. You do the same." He left with a sheepish look, and without ever saying 'good bye'. Balthazar watched him go off down the street with shoulders hunched and hands in his coat pockets.

It was almost two weeks before Rachel contacted him, inviting him out to lunch with a tentative air. Over a quiet meal she cast him concerned glances, but from her conversation he gathered that Connor had returned for a long talk. He knew he looked ill, and had lost a little weight, but he was gentle and polite, and tried to make sure Rachel knew his door was always open for her.

It took him a few more weeks to lever himself out of the pit, but Rachel seemed to be making extra effort to get him out for lunches, and made visits to his shop, where she sat primly among the artifacts asking for stories about them and delicately sipping tea.

He was back to his usual self by a few months later, when she showed up at the Arcana Cabana with a shy smile and a pair of finches in a cage. They stayed in for lunch that day, while Balthazar exclaimed with quiet delight over the gift.

Not long after, an elegant wedding invitation showed up in the mail, postmarked from England. There was a letter included, in Connor's archaic script, with explanations about Scotland being too uncomfortable to live in, but the wedding would be held there. It wasn't a long letter, but it was substantially better than his average phone call. When Rachel called to ask if he'd gotten his invitation, he offered to travel together. She seemed just slightly awkward over the idea of Connor's swift engagement and marriage, but she wanted him to be happy and having Balthazar as an escort seemed to make her feel better about it all.

After offering to make the travel arrangements, she came to his shop in person with the tickets, and offered to have a friend care for his birds. It struck him how terribly out of place she looked in his dusty, cluttered shop, with her neatly done hair and make-up and her tasteful suits, but she seemed to find the place fascinating.

Balthazar went out after she was gone, to get a haircut, and buy a new suit. It was the least he could do to try to complement her for the trip.


	9. Bachelors and booze

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Aaand just like that, the first HL movie is over, but there's so much stuff abrupt movie endings don't give us…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

9. Bachelors and booze

Balthazar had cleaned himself up well for the trip to Scotland, freshly shaved, hair still shoulder-length but neatly groomed, and new clothes that even Connor would have to admit were up to date. He carried a single carpetbag, which was all he needed since the spells worked on it allowed it to hold more than he could possibly need to bring. His changed appearance met with Rachel's full approval, but she quietly confessed that she was glad he'd kept his hair long.

On the plane he was like a small child, delighted to be in the air. He'd always been fascinated by flight, and his trips in airplanes had been few. Rachel seemed amused to see him so enchanted with it all, but by the last few hours of the long flight she fell asleep against his shoulder. Only the landing in Glasgow woke her, and she groggily tried to straighten herself up and check her make-up before the gate was opened.

Rachel stepped off the flight with Balthazar a mature lady, graceful on his arm, then saw Connor and ran the last few steps into his arms like a child.

Connor laughed, beaming, and gave Balthazar a grin over the top of her head while he hugged her. With him was another man of the same height but a more solid build, long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and slightly more refined features. He was dusky and dark-eyed where Connor was fair, but there was an indefinable similarity all the same. He was also a sharper dresser.

There was also a woman, probably in her early thirties, with fluffy brown hair. She looked happy, but just a little overwhelmed.

When Rachel let go of Connor, the other man hugged her and actually lifted her off her feet. "You look good." He smiled charmingly, showing dimples.

Rachel blushed as she was gently set back on her feet. "Duncan!"

Balthazar hung back, awkward and a little envious, but then Connor strode forward and wrapped him in a bear hug that took his breath away. "Oof! I need my spine, thanks." He smiled, relieved, and hugged back as well as he could.

"Bah, you'll live." Connor grinned and thumped his back as he let him go.

Rachel had moved on to greet Brenda more politely, and Duncan stepped forward with a smile. "I'll spare your ribs and settle for a handshake, if you want." His accent was more Americanized than Connor's, but there were definite hints of broad travel.

"Please. It takes time for my bones to knit." Balthazar smiled and shook hands. "Balthazar Blake."

"Duncan MacLeod, pleased to meet you." He looked older than Connor, by at least a decade, while Rachel and Connor both had always described him as younger. He was definitely more muscular, too, but his handshake was merely firm instead of crushing.

"Likewise. I've heard a few stories." He turned to study the bride. "And you must be Brenda. You're a brave woman."

Duncan laughed softly.

Connor's arm had already slid around Brenda's shoulders, and he had Rachel on his other side.

"Hi. It's Balthazar Blake, right?" She smiled and shook his hand confidently, but seemed to be studying him. She sounded very American, but Connor must have forgiven her for that. She also sounded forceful, with a strong enough personality to stand up to Connor.

"That's right. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thanks! It's good to meet Connor's friends." He had the impression she was sizing him up in return.

"We should get your luggage…" Duncan put in gently.

"I have mine." Balthazar lifted the carpetbag slightly, "But I think Rachel has a suitcase."

She nodded, and let Connor lead them to the baggage claim. He seemed glad to have a girl on each arm, and let the crowd move aside while they walked three wide. Duncan fell into step beside Balthazar. "Want me to carry that for you?"

"Mm, it's a little temperamental." He was half-joking, looking for a reaction. "I'm not sure."

Duncan raised an eyebrow, amused and intrigued. "Connor hasn't told me _much_ about you yet…"

"I'm an eccentric." Balthazar deadpanned. It wasn't a lie, anyway. "What _has_ he told you?"

Duncan laughed a little and glanced at him sidelong, lowering his voice discretely. "He called you a wizard, but I wasn't sure if he was just putting me on…"

"He wasn't." Balthazar reassured calmly. "I'm currently running an occult shop in New York, but I've… been around."

"Haven't we all…?" Duncan smiled faintly.

Connor hefted Rachel's suitcase and headed for the car park, and Rachel drifted back a few steps, sliding neatly between Duncan and Balthazar. She mimicked Connor's trick, getting one of them on each arm. "Are you two getting acquainted?"

Balthazar smiled at her fondly. "Working on it. Are you jetlagged at all?"

"Very." She flashed a tired smile at him. "But Connor says the hotel isn't far." She squeezed Duncan's arm and glanced his way. "Missed you."

Balthazar was just as glad to get to the hotel, too, and quickly collapsed into a nap. It was a cozy, older inn just outside the city, and the age of the place gave it a familiar feel. He was allowed to sleep himself out, and when he did come down Connor made sure he had a late lunch. Rachel emerged partway through, and was fed too, then they went for a quiet walk. The two immortals led the way to an unpopulated area and a rocky outcropping set in a hill. It formed a natural sitting place, where they could talk openly. Brenda seemed slightly incredulous over what they told her about Balthazar, while Duncan just looked thoughtful. Balthazar noticed that Connor kept his explanation simple, but he seemed so enthusiastic to have them all there that it was a little overwhelming, but contagious.

The sorcerer felt a little elated by the setting and the breeze, and ended up calling down a hawk just for the sake of showing off and proving himself. He stroked its chest feathers and babbled briefly about his pet finches before letting it go.

Brenda seemed impressed, but just slightly skeptical, as if she suspected some trickery underneath it all. It was hard to tell how much she truly believed, and the rest of them seemed disinclined to push it. She was the odd one out, the newcomer with no secrets of her own, but she didn't even seem aware of that status.

They returned as it got cooler, for a good dinner, then Brenda quietly drew Rachel away to talk. Duncan stood, and clapped Balthazar and Connor each on the shoulder. "You know what time it is, don't you?"

"Oh, gods… it involves alcohol, doesn't it?" Balthazar sighed in mock dismay.

Connor looked puzzled a moment, then grinned slyly. "You're joking…"

"I owe you, remember?" Duncan's smile was a little wistful. "Come on, there's a pub just up the road."

Balthazar laughed and shook his head. "All right, but keep in mind I need my liver." He put his hat and coat on.

Duncan looked just a little apologetic.

"Do the women know about this?" Connor pulled on his coat.

"Brenda does, and you know Rachel won't be surprised." Duncan steered them gently out the door and up the road.

Balthazar whistled as they walked, in a good mood despite comments about his liver.

Connor leaned toward his kinsman, murmuring in a voice clearly intended to be overheard, "You know Duncan, you have to be careful with that one. When he gets really drunk he turns people into goats."

"Did not. Anyway, you started it by trying to electrocute me."

Duncan laughed. "I can tell this is going to be a night to remember."

"If you can remember it the next morning, you're not doing it right." Connor asserted.

Balthazar snickered, but was concerned he might not be able to keep up. Also, he'd heard from Rachel they sometimes got violent.

Connor got the door for them both, grinning in anticipation, which gave Duncan a chance to pat Balthazar's shoulder and lean close. "You _are_ okay with this?"

"Of course." He smiled faintly. "But thanks."

Duncan gave him a smile and got them a corner table at the back, likely a wise idea since the conversation might range over things that shouldn't be overheard. Meanwhile, Connor got three whiskeys to start and brought them over.

Balthazar was slightly lost in thought at first, sipping and rubbing the gold band on the third finger of his left hand.

Connor always took his first drink in a good gulp, but his gaze fell on the absent gesture. "Of the three of us Duncan, you're the youngest, _**and**_ you've had the most women…"

"Don't start that again." Duncan rolled his eyes.

Balthazar leaned back to watch the show, amused.

"It was _going_ to be a serious question." Connor frowned. "How do you do it? Some of us never get over our first love…"

Duncan raised an eyebrow, looked between them, and then looked awkward as he realized Connor was serious. "Maybe until now I just never… Connor, you don't want to talk about _this_ tonight." He looked to Balthazar a little helplessly, clearly afraid this was a bad start.

Balthazar smiled and shrugged lazily. "Maybe some people fall in love with Love."

Connor glanced over at him thoughtfully, then back at Duncan. "I think he means you like quantity over quality."

"…No, not even close." Balthazar snorted. "Never mind."

"Oh, then go on and explain what you meant so I can insult him properly." His tone hadn't changed, but Connor seemed to have quit being serious.

Duncan laughed, looking a little relieved.

"You're too young. Come back to me in another five hundred years."

Connor gave an aggravated sigh, snatched Balthazar's hat off the table, and squashed it down over the sorcerer's head so that it covered his eyes. Looking smug, he drained his glass.

"Sorry Connor, I guess you'll just have to come up with the insults yourself." Duncan grinned wickedly.

Balthazar sputtered a protest. "Be gentle with the hat!" He pulled it back off and swatted Connor with it.

The immortal looked unrepentant. "You're just jealous because you're old, and I look younger than _both_ of you."

Duncan leaned towards Balthazar. "He's compensating because he's legally underage…"

"Only in the States!" Connor kicked Duncan under the table. "Get me another scotch."

"Already with the violence!" Balthazar laughed and took a swallow of his drink.

Duncan rubbed his shin. "Maybe I'd better bring the bottle, he's started early." He grinned and slid out of the booth, heading for the bar with a limp that had to be faked.

"Don't worry, I only beat him up because he can take it." Connor smiled at Balthazar, but it occurred to the sorcerer that might be a veiled insult.

"Not because he can't turn you into a goat if provoked?"

"We're in public!" He lightly tweaked Balthazar's hat.

"I know where you live." Balthazar sobered, "…Seriously though, I missed you."

Connor seemed about to make some retort, but then he looked awkward and toyed with his empty glass. "…I wanted to live here, but it isn't home anymore. I'm not sure England is either, really…"

"Home is with her, I'm sure." Balthazar thumped the highlander's back gently. "I'm happy for you."

Connor looked up from contemplation of the table, smiling weakly. "It would be a better home if the rest of my family was there, too." His grey-blue gaze searched the sorcerer's face.

Balthazar was touched. "I can visit, if it helps."

"You should. We're going to set up an antique shop…" His empty glass rolled between his hands. "And we've been talking about adopting…" He looked both sheepish and enamored over that.

"I think… that might be a good idea."

Duncan returned with a large bottle of whisky and looked at their expressions. "What happened to the insults?"

Connor swung back into form with a grin. "We were saving them for you."

Balthazar smiled at Duncan, trying not to mind the interruption. "Must be your turn."

Connor's mind seemed to have lingered on adoption, though, and he turned to give Balthazar a weak smile, murmuring, "We'll have a lot to explain to a kid… I will, anyway…"

"It's worth it. You know that."

Duncan sighed and sat, refilling Connor's glass. "You're both too serious for your own good."

Balthazar glanced at Duncan, teasing. "That wasn't a very good one; try again."

Connor nodded distantly, then came back to the present with a raspy laugh. "He's right, that was terrible."

Duncan made a face and offered to top off Balthazar's glass. "Let's see… your mother smells of elderberries?"

"Take that back; my mother was a saint." Balthazar nodded, and took a swallow of liquor once his glass was full, smiling faintly.

"My mother was burned at the stake for my sake and she still wouldn't recant and say I was the devil." Connor glowered and his hand moved under the table. Evidently Duncan had chosen the wrong joke.

"Gahowww!" Duncan gasped and curled up. "I give up!" He whispered, panting.

A few heads turned their way, but the other patrons quickly lost interest again. Men fighting over drinks, particularly in Scotland, was normal. Balthazar's eyebrows rose, though, and he began to feel some worry about sitting next to Connor. "_**I**_ was just joking."

Duncan panted and scowled at Connor, his chin level with the table and teeth gritted.

As if nothing at all had happened, Connor worked on his drink, expression mild again.

Balthazar cast a painkilling spell for Duncan, uncertain exactly what had just transpired. He looked at Connor beside him. "…I realize you're the kind of man who breaks ribs to say hello, but I'm going to have to ask for a moratorium on that kind of violence."

"Yeah Connor, don't scare him off, we need at least three for a bachelor's party." His recovery speeded by Balthazar's magic, he gave Connor a well-aimed kick under the table.

Connor gulped his scotch the wrong way as he doubled up, wheezing, coughing and spluttering. Duncan was well dressed, and they were both modernized, but Balthazar found it remarkably easy to picture the pair as kilt-clad barbarians.

Duncan held up both hands with a beatific smile. "I'm done. Cease fire."

"I'm not refereeing two drunk Scotsmen kicking each other all night. I mean it." Balthazar gestured with his ring hand warningly.

"He does. He has dangerous jewelry." Connor wheezed painfully.

"Easy Connor. I thought you already breathed and slept scotch." Duncan drank his own peacefully.

Balthazar rolled his eyes, half amused, half annoyed.

"You're just lucky you didn't make me spill, or I'd be annoyed."

Duncan grinned at Balthazar. "Did he tell you he taught me everything I know?"

"I'm sure it was an interesting apprenticeship." He smirked. "Amazing you both survived, really."

They both laughed at that. "I was his first teacher, but he was my first student, so neither of us knew what we were doing." Connor's voice was raspier than usual, but he seemed to be recovering.

Relaxing again, Balthazar began to coax some stories out of them. Watching the MacLeods jointly tell about their travels together was more entertaining than one of them alone, especially as the evening progressed. He wasn't pushed to match them for drinking, but they seemed to be in an unspoken contest to keep pace with each other. They also seemed to be each trying to come up with anecdotes that would humiliate the other. The stories about Connor painted him as impulsive, abrasive, and a little too much of a drinker, but none of that came as a surprise. Duncan seemed to be painted as a ladies man, and someone who made decisions from the heart, but sometimes foolishly so. There were one or two women in the tales about Connor, but his liaisons seemed to be brief, and he had a history of keeping an emotional distance from people.

Before he knew it they were drawing him out to reciprocate with a few tales involving his students. He noted that in comparison to them both he was an ascetic. There had been no women since Veronica's imprisonment, and all of his travels were related to the goal of finding Merlin's successor. He might have found it depressing, had he been sober. Nevertheless, he had some good stories about students and his devotion to the task of teaching them shone through.

There was no way he could keep up with their drinking, and he knew better than to try, but he was feeling unsteady by the evening's end. The bartender had begun casting them a few looks, trying to close up, and Duncan took the hint, but they had the remains of a bottle for the road. Balthazar didn't want to know how much the bachelor's party had cost Duncan, and wondered idly if Duncan would care when he was sober again. They walked back up the road supporting each other, swaying across the road like a three-headed monster, with Connor in the middle, finishing off the last bottle. Later, Balthazar found he couldn't even remember actually reaching the hotel or falling into bed.


	10. Things left unsaid

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_In the movies, Connor's marriage to Brenda is only a footnote, off-screen somewhere, but after four hundred years of avoiding romantic relationships, it always seemed to me like there must have been some kind of tension around it…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

10. Things left unsaid

Balthazar was all too glad the wedding wasn't until evening. He was even more glad he'd had the foresight to pack things for a hangover cure; even so, he didn't venture downstairs until early afternoon. Duncan and Rachel were in the main room of the inn, and the younger highlander immediately began offering remedies, guilty and apologetic. Balthazar had to wave them off, in reasonably good spirits after already dealing with it himself.

Rachel seemed to be on her way out, to help Brenda with preparations, but she stood on her toes and gave them each a kiss on the cheek. "And you both make sure Connor gets there on time!"

Duncan watched her go with a smile, then ran a hand over his face while his expression melted into mild distress. "He said he was just going out for a walk. You don't think…?"

"You want me to go look for him?"

"Maybe we both should…"

"Did he seem like himself?" Balthazar had just sat down, but he stood again, now.

"You mean quiet and irritable? Yes." Duncan sighed.

"Oh. Well, I guess that could mean anything."

The younger MacLeod led the way out, and around the back of the hotel where open hills stretched way from them. Only the noise of a distant freeway behind them marred the ancient beauty of the place. They were outside the city, but Balthazar knew there was only so far one could go in any direction before running into modern civilization again.

"I'll check one direction, you go the other?"

He looked around, considering a spell for a moment, but decided that Connor couldn't have gotten too far. "Fair enough. I'll head this way."

Duncan checked his watch. "Meet back here in an hour, one way or the other?"

Nodding, the sorcerer put on his hat and strode off. It was rocky, hilly terrain of course, and Connor had gone further than he expected, but from the top of a hill he spotted a figure in sweater and jeans, standing on a heap of boulders and staring out across a small lake. He teleported across the distance silently, coming up behind the highlander with his hands in his pockets. "Connor…?"

"Mmmn." It was a completely ambiguous noise, and Connor's expression was unreadable, but he sat and gestured for Balthazar to join him.

He settled on a rock quietly. "Cold feet, or something more serious?"

Connor gave a sheepish smile and looked down. "Maybe that's it. I never had that before." Having only been married the once, that was hardly a surprise.

Balthazar reached over and mussed his hair. "You want to talk about it?"

He ducked slightly and shrugged, looking all of nineteen years old. Even his bride-to-be looked older than that. "It's just… so nice now, but staying the rest of her life…" Connor's expression sobered and aged quickly, four hundred years of life descending onto his face in seconds. "Going through it all over again, like with Heather…" He shut his eyes.

"It's the price you pay for being able to love again," Balthazar said softly. "Being able to be hurt again."

"I try to live in the present. I try so hard." He rubbed at his face. "It's so easy for her, I can't tell if she quite understands."

"I'm not sure she can, but I don't know her well. In any case, I'm sure she loves you."

"She must, to put up with me." He smiled weakly at Balthazar, and his eyes said he was looking for reassurance.

"She adores you. I've seen you together." The sorcerer smiled, although he was finding the conversation excruciating for reasons of his own.

Connor nodded slowly, thumped Balthazar on the back, and looked out across the water. "It'll never stop hurting, will it." His tone was quiet, but it was not a question.

"No. But you have a chance now. Take it."

"I didn't mean just for me." Connor looked back to the sorcerer. His moments of perceptiveness always seemed to come at the worst times.

Balthazar looked down, swallowing hard. "…She's trapped because she was willing to give her life for mine. It'll end someday; Merlin said it would. And maybe she'll still want me, and maybe she won't. But at least I'll know."

"In the meantime, she'd want you to _live_."

"…I can't. The hard part is knowing she's suffering, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"You're _**not**_ setting a good example." Connor sighed and frowned. "People make sacrifices for love. The Kurgan told me…" His face twitched in a grimace, and he started over. "When people suffer for somebody else, it's because they want them to be happy."

"I have a job to do," Balthazar answered grimly. "Until it's done, everything else is secondary. I'm sorry. It's just… a little different."

Aggravated, Connor gave a quiet sigh, and kicked at a clump of sod. After a long moment he said quietly, "If there's ever anything I can do to help with that…"

"Be happy. It gives me hope." Struggling to control his emotions, Balthazar was surprised to note his voice was steady, at least.

Connor put a brotherly arm around him, but seemed to have nothing more to say.

Balthazar rested his face in his hands for several minutes, composing himself, then straightened with a deep breath. "I promised Rachel I'd get you to the church on time."

"You really will come visit?" The immortal stood, and offered Balthazar a hand up.

"Of course." He managed a faint smile, accepting the help.

Connor looked concerned, and glanced back in the general direction of the hotel. "Where's Duncan?"

"He went the other way looking for you. Don't worry about it, I can get him."

"I really _was_ just taking a walk." Connor rolled his eyes. "What did you think I was going to do, jump off a cliff?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Balthazar smirked, letting his darker thoughts drift to the back of his mind in favor of focusing on the day.

"What? What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"The impulsive kind?" Balthazar grinned and headed back down the hill.

"I'm-! Well maybe sometimes. What's wrong with that?" He cleared a large rock in one leap and came to easily match Balthazar's pace.

Back at the inn, they had little trouble locating Duncan, who was already on his way back and anxious. Connor's return lightened the mood immediately and they separated to their rooms to dress. Balthazar had let a salesperson advise him on the new suit, and therefore hoped it would be up to modern standards. He met them in the main room, both in suits, and Connor freshly shaved. When he saw Balthazar he told him he had 'nice threads', then informed them they both needed haircuts. Duncan promptly let his hair down in revenge.

The drive to the church was short, and the building was an ancient stone chapel that might have rivaled Balthazar in age. Apart from the priest, their group was it, as this seemed to be more of a formality in front of friends than a traditional wedding. Brenda wore a modern-looking white dress, and her manner was shyer than Balthazar had come to expect. Duncan stood on hand with the rings, while Rachel hugged Balthazar's arm tight as they watched. It seemed like a slight incongruity that the priest addressed Connor as Russell Nash, but it was a legal necessity.

Balthazar was privately glad for Rachel's support, patting her hand gently. He was happy for Connor, despite the melancholy that lurked at the back of his mind. At the reception he was first to talk Rachel into a dance. Blushing and awkward, she allowed herself to be coaxed out, and on the dance floor it was clear she'd had lessons. Balthazar himself was decent, if old-fashioned at it. Duncan and Connor each took a turn with her, and Connor lightly pushed the sorcerer into a dance with Brenda. Hand in hand with her, he noticed the ivory dove he had told Connor to give her was pinned to her dress, and he informed her it counted as the 'something old' of the traditional wedding charm. Less comfortable with her than with Rachel, he quietly gave her a brief history of the item while they moved across the floor. She was polite and friendly, and openly amused by his old-fashioned charm.

After that he stayed close to Rachel, who tired of dancing at roughly the same time he did. Duncan seemed to be content to be the odd man out, although at one point Balthazar overheard Connor telling the younger highlander he could have brought Tessa. Whatever the answer was, Duncan seemed awkward over it and Connor was left frowning. Fortunately Brenda was quick to draw her new husband back for a last dance, and Duncan seemed grateful for the company of Rachel and Balthazar at the table. Rachel seemed delighted to have them both on hand, and made sure they knew she was very fond of both her 'uncles'.

Dinner was only a slightly formal affair, with champagne, although Balthazar was careful to only have one glass. The drinking was much more conservative than the night before, and they all returned to the hotel more or less sober. Rather than run off for a honeymoon, Connor and Brenda remained at the hotel a few days more to socialize, making the trip all the more worthwhile, but Duncan left the next day. He was apologetic, but Balthazar gathered he had someone important to return to. Balthazar stayed on with them, but he knew his mood was somewhat withdrawn. Gently apologetic, he let Rachel return to New York alone, declaring his desire to make a side trip to Wales before heading home. Connor only let him go with a promise to visit them in England, soon. Rachel seemed understanding, but she was ready to go back home to New York.

When he did return she was quick to visit, with his birds, and a few anxious glances. He was grateful for the company, even if they both found themselves thinking of someone else far away across the ocean.


	11. Unfair

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_The roller-coaster continues, more footnotes that fell between the movies…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

11. Unfair

Letters came to Balthazar from England, and photos, of a dark-haired baby boy. Connor and Brenda had adopted, and in the pictures the immortal's face glowed, when he held his new son. As the holidays approached, invitations came for Balthazar and Rachel to visit for Christmas. Although they hadn't discussed it, he was sure they'd both been anticipating a melancholy holiday in New York, and he wasn't surprised when she readily agreed they should both go.

Balthazar had a soft spot for children, and looking forward to the visit, he bought a lot of toys for the boy. The moment he stepped in the door of their home, he knew the child wanted for nothing, though. He was greeted with rib-cracking hugs from Connor, a tree that nearly touched the ceiling of the living room, and toys scattered everywhere. A little under a year old, the child was just starting to get into everything, and it was clear Connor and Brenda's lives revolved around him. Connor seemed even more taken with the boy than Brenda did, if by a narrow margin. The house was slightly crowded, but warm and welcoming.

Balthazar was attentive to Rachel, not wanting her to feel any sibling rivalry, but at her mid-forties she seemed enchanted with the child and behaved more like an aunt. Casual hugs and affection from Connor showed that as much as he adored John, the child couldn't displace Rachel in his heart. The holiday was a whirlwind of fuss over the boy, busy and bright, and Balthazar couldn't help enjoying himself. If Connor had any lingering reservations about married life, there was no hint of it over Christmas.

After New Year's, Connor was reluctant to see them go, and the letter that came soon after underscored how much Balthazar and Rachel's presences were missed. The letters spaced out slightly after that, but that seemed to be simply a result of the demands of raising a young toddler. Every letter came with pictures, and reports on John's progress. Balthazar wrote back faithfully, and sent small gifts, although he didn't bother to call and face Connor's poor phone manners.

By autumn, Connor wrote of the anxiety of leaving the toddler with the neighbor that usually babysat for them, but for days this time, while he and Brenda were going on a brief trip to Scotland. The trip was both business and a much-needed break, and the neighbor was well trusted, but Connor's worry was clear in his writing. By the time the letter arrived, they should have already left. It was the very next day after the letter that Balthazar's phone rang unexpectedly. He answered promptly, a little surprised by a call first thing in the morning.

Rachel's voice over the line was breathless and shaky. "Did he…? Oh B.B., it's- Did Connor call you yet?"

"Rachel? What's wrong?" He could already tell it was an emergency, but couldn't quite brace himself for her reply.

"He said there was a car accident. Brenda's _**gone**_." She was starting to cry now, quiet sobs between the words. "He sounded so… like he wasn't even there. Empty."

"No." Balthazar whispered, sitting down heavily. For a moment he couldn't say anything at all, just listened to the soft sounds on the other end of the phone. At last he pulled his thoughts together, "Where is he?"

"Still in Scotland. Making arrangements." Her voice was wobbly.

"I'm going. Do you want to come or would you rather take a plane?"

"You're… what… you're going how?" She seemed too distracted to catch on right away.

"Long-distance teleport." His voice came slightly raspy with emotion.

"…I'll come." He could hear her pulling herself together. It was morning, but it would be later there.

"Half an hour, then." He hung up and threw together his carpetbag while shedding tears. By the time he went to pick Rachel up he was composed, but he knew he wore an expression of weary grief.

Rachel was pale, but her expression mirrored his. She'd had time to let the store employees know she'd be out of town a few days, and to pack a little, but she looked slightly flustered. "He was calling from the hotel, he said he'd just gotten in… but I didn't think to ask the address…"

"I can find him." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "A-are you ready?"

She took a breath and picked up her suitcase, then took his arm, trembling. Teleporting was new to her. "As much as I can be."

"It'll be quick, and it doesn't hurt." He bent his forehead to rest against her a moment, reassuringly, then straightened and closed his eyes. The lights dimmed with a faint tremor before the world seemed to rearrange itself around them into an alley in a city smaller and cleaner than New York. His eyes were glowing still when he opened them again. "…We should be close."

Rachel was clinging to him tightly, staring. The back of a hotel rose to one side of them, and Balthazar thought he recognized the place as Glasgow. He gave her a moment, stroking her hair once, lightly. "You okay?"

She let out her breath suddenly and said in a very small voice, "Yes?"

"…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have rushed you." He moved toward the front of the building slowly.

Rachel shook her head and looked a little determined, not only matching his pace, but even pulling at him a little. "His room is probably under Nash." Not for the first time, it struck him that Connor had raised a strong woman.

"Right." He let her lead him into the hotel gently, and they approached the desk clerk together. There was a guest checked in under Russell Nash, and the clerk called up to tell him he had company, but looked startled by whatever he got from the other end and hung up with a grimace. "Er, He's in two-fourteen, but he didn't sound happy…"

"He's… not going to be happy for a while. Thank you." Balthazar headed for the stairs, knocking gently when he reached the room. Rachel stood straight-backed at his side.

After a moment the door was thrust open by Connor, in boxers and t-shirt, hair wet. "What do you want to ask m-" His voice was a quiet growl, but when he saw them he froze, still looking a little angry, but at a loss for how to react.

"I didn't want you to be alone." Balthazar said quietly. "If you need time, we'll get rooms and wait."

"…You shouldn't be here at all." His voice was calmer, and he left the door hanging open, retreating to go sit on the bed.

Rachel bit her lip, eyes damp.

Balthazar glanced at her, wanting to protect her from this, then he sighed and went to kneel next to Connor. "Well we are."

She put her suitcase just inside and very quietly closed the door, then came to kneel at Connor's feet.

"…Why?" He looked uncomfortable with them both sitting on the floor in front of him.

"Because we… we're family." It was at once both wonderful and painful to say.

Connor looked down at the floor between them, avoiding meeting their eyes. "I have to go back tomorrow. For John."

Rachel rested her head lightly on his knee.

"Do you want me to pick him up?" Balthazar asked quietly.

Connor shrugged, his expression closed. "She has family in America. She'll be buried there."

"I'm sorry… Connor…" Rachel looked up at him. "We're here, don't close us out."

Balthazar ran his fingers through his hair, fighting tears again.

Connor's gaze shifted almost reluctantly to Rachel's face, but his voice remained hollow and calm. "I would have met you at the funeral…"

"Maybe we should give him space," Balthazar said quietly to Rachel. "Why don't I… I'll get you a room."

"…Thanks…" Connor closed his eyes briefly and drew a slow breath. "Should I get dressed?"

Rachel sat back slowly, guilty and tearful.

"No need. I'll check us in and come back. Just don't run off, all right?" He squeezed Connor's shoulder gently as he got up.

The immortal just nodded, watching Rachel distantly.

By the time Balthazar returned, she was sitting on the bed beside Connor, and he had an arm around her, but still looked numb.

Balthazar gave Rachel a key. "Just down the hall. I'm… going to…" He gestured, aware he was incoherent. "…Keep me informed."

Connor looked up at him at last, a little surprised, and wary, and with an ache underneath that went very deep. "I'll… yes." He nodded slowly.

Rachel looked torn, watching both their expressions, but it was clear she wasn't ready to leave Connor. "I'll come see you in a little bit?" She was still tearful, but struggling to hold it in. She hadn't had their practice.

Balthazar nodded soberly and left. He'd gotten two rooms, next to one another, and he left his door open. Lying on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, unaware of the passage of time.

Eventually Rachel came to the doorway, eyes red. "…Not you, too."

"Mm? I'm all right." The sorcerer sat up and offered her his hand, smiling weakly. "How's he?"

She came to sit on the bed by him. "Like a piece of wood. I just want to _shake_ him…" There was a flash of anger, then she dabbed at her eyes.

He put an arm around her gently. "He's probably still in shock. Give him a couple days. Then I'll hit him or something if I have to."

"He _goes_ like this! He just… shuts down." She leaned on his shoulder, breathing shaky, but she seemed to have already cried herself out.

"I'll talk to him, but… not right now."

"No… not right now." She rubbed her face. "He said… it was a tourist, driving on the wrong side of the road. The police questioned him because he escaped without a scratch, but she…" Rachel sniffled. "At least it was quick…"

"It's not fair," Balthazar said quietly. "Not to her, not to him."

"No. Not to anyone." She hugged her arms around herself. "He'll hold on, for John. He _has_ to…"

"…Yes. He loves John." He patted her back gently.

"When did the world get so unfair? Or have I just been naïve?" Immediately she put up her hands as if to ward him off. "Don't answer that. I know there's no good answer."

"No, not really. I'm sorry." He stroked her hair once. "Have you eaten?"

"I had a little breakfast… I don't know what time it is here _or_ there." She worried her lip. "I'll bet he hasn't eaten, and he won't unless we make him."

Balthazar glanced at the bedside clock and was surprised to find most of the day was gone. "It's late. Let me get you something; we'll make sure he has breakfast in the morning."

She put a gentle hand on his arm. "How are you holding up?"

"…Honestly? I'm not sure." He smiled weakly. "But I _am_ a little hungry."

"…I must look like a mess." She seemed to have cried and mopped her face enough that any mascara was simply gone, rather than smudged, but he'd learned she was self-conscious about these things.

"You look beautiful as you always do. But I can wait, if you want to change or… whatever."

"Let me go freshen up. I'll be quick." She gave a shaky sigh and stood, departing for her own room.

He waited patiently, and when she returned he took her out for a somber meal at a nearby restaurant. Rachel had a few brief fits of tears, but seemed relatively steady. He sat with her until she was ready to sleep, then retired to pace his room. He hadn't wanted to cry in front of her.


	12. Space apart

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Thanks to the readers hanging in there through the trauma… I really apologize, this chapter is mostly summary, but I promise the next one is a lot better. Er, and sorry for the slight cliffhanger…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

12. Space apart

In the morning Balthazar was up early, but gave Connor a few hours before he knocked on the hotel room door with breakfast and coffee. He was a little slow answering the door, but Connor didn't look like he'd slept. On the other hand, he was dressed and sober. "…You didn't have to do that." The response was quiet and tired. He let Balthazar inside.

"This way I can tell Rachel you've eaten."

Connor gave a grunt and sank into a chair by the window. There were a couple of them, at a small table cluttered with the phone and a lot of notes in Connor's slightly archaic handwriting.

Balthazar set the food down between pieces of paper, and sat across from him. "What do you need from us?"

Connor stared bleary-eyed at his own notes, and spoke slowly, struggling to lay things out in order. "We weren't staying here, but the hotel is sending our things here… Brenda's family knows. Br-The… body… is going there, tomorrow. With me. Mrs. Winslet knows… were you serious about fetching John?" He reached wearily for the coffee. It looked like he'd been busy, the kind of frenzy someone might throw themselves into to avoid having to think.

"Of course. Anything I can do." Balthazar found his voice was husky.

"Is it all right, do you think, to have him at the funeral? Will he remember, later?" He met Balthazar's eyes then, anxiety flashing through the stoic mask of grief. "Will he remember her?"

"You may want to have someone ready to take him away if he gets fussy," He sighed. "And he'll remember her through you."

Connor held the coffee and stared down at it with an expression of concern. "I could arrange for him to stay with her, a few more days…"

"I'll watch him if you want me to. I think it might help you to be with him."

He nodded numbly. "Is Rachel angry at me?"

"She's worried about you," Balthazar said gently. "And she wants to help."

"…I could send her with you to get John…" He finally sipped the coffee. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, you know. I just… can't cry. She was upset that I'm not crying."

"Everyone grieves differently. But it does seem like you're still in shock." Balthazar watched him closely.

Connor shrugged. "I'm just tired. There's no point being angry… or sad. I can't undo it. I wish the police hadn't been so interested. I'm sorry about last night, I thought you were them again."

"Connor… emotions are what make us human. And you've always been fairly passionate. I don't want to tell you what to feel, but… there doesn't have to be a point."

"Are you sure what I am is human?" He fixed Balthazar with a sharp look, and pointed at a dingy, stained, tattered sweater on the floor by the bed. "That's my blood, not hers. By the time the paramedics reached us I had to _pretend_ it was hers." He sounded quietly angry now, but Balthazar took that as a good sign.

"As human as I am," He met anger with quiet relief. "But I'm no expert."

Connor subsided, and poked listlessly at the food. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this…"

"No. You're right. It's not fair." He was silent for a moment, watching Connor prod at the plate, then coaxed, "Try the bacon. It's good."

Connor couldn't seem to find much else to say, and they sat quietly while he nibbled at the food, but finished the coffee. When Rachel timidly joined them, Connor laid out and solidified the practical plans. As much as he wanted John, he seemed relieved to have them pick the boy up. Rachel seemed frustrated at his lack of emotion, but she didn't push him. In the end the various arrangements were enough to keep them busy.

Balthazar did his best to keep them from butting heads, doing whatever either of them needed done. Taking care of John became a comfort, and the sorcerer even watched him during the funeral. It was held in upstate New York, and it was an awkward, divided affair. Brenda's family seemed to only vaguely know Connor, and they seemed quietly resentful. Connor's strange little family stood apart from Brenda's relations, who eyed 'Russell Nash' as he stood dry-eyed and silent. Rachel was tearful beside him, holding his arm throughout. Balthazar found it slightly distressing to hear her introduce herself as Russell Nash's adoptive mother. Little John, not quite two, was bewildered but well-behaved.

After it all, he was reluctant to leave Connor alone, but he returned with Rachel to New York to give him space. Connor was quick to return to England with his son, but not long after he and Rachel got separate phone calls, telling them calmly about the sale of the antique store there and a move south to Marrakesh. John had originally been adopted from the area, and Connor seemed to have lined up work. Balthazar could hardly blame him for wanting to move away from the memories.

Once Connor had settled in with John, he sent letters, but the contact grew sparse. There were letters once or twice a year, and pictures of John growing into a child who looked quiet and solemn. Connor's tone was practical and distant, although gradually some humor and lightness crept back in.

Rachel was clearly distressed by Connor's distance, and roughly a year after Brenda's death she closed down the antique store. It was his, and she seemed to find it too painful without him. The office job she took up instead introduced her to a divorced, middle-aged man she began to tentatively date. It was hard to say how serious the relationship was, but it sounded refreshingly normal. Unfortunately, it drew her away from Balthazar a little.

He resented the growing distance between themselves and Connor, but quickly grew resigned and never complained. Rachel's withdrawal was a double blow, but he tried to take it calmly, telling her to call him if her boyfriend ever mistreated her and he'd turn him into a frog. It seemed likely that Connor was oblivious to the effects of his behavior, but Rachel was not. She still made an effort at inviting Balthazar out to lunch, but he could see she was torn between the new life she was starting to make, and the old life that was hard to explain to it.

He drew away to give her space, and took to roaming on business, seeking out other sorcerers. This drew him into battles, and more than once Rachel received phone calls from the hospital, but his injuries were never too serious. She showed up in a flurry of fear and concern, grew angry at him, and later deeply apologetic and concerned again, but the rift had widened.

The years passed with an ache, through the turn of the decade and beyond. Nineteen-ninety two brought a letter from Connor that mentioned a visit to Duncan and his girlfriend and Tessa, but in the year after there was another, somber letter about her death. Balthazar tucked it away in a drawer with the others, but felt his heart weighed down just a little more.

As the holidays approached, Rachel showered him with gifts, but it was a form of apology because she intended to go away with her boyfriend for Christmas. He wished her a happy vacation, and spent the holiday quietly drunk, alone.

It was into January, and around four in the morning, when the long-quiet wards around the closed Nash Antiques building tugged Balthazar's mind. Someone had just gone in.

Balthazar chose conventional means, but made it to the store in minutes. The locked door meant nothing to him, and he was inside in seconds. The place was dark, and he knew there were ways in besides the locked front door.

It was ominously quiet, but he hadn't gotten very far in when there was a silken hiss, and a sharp edge at his throat. Connor's voice was low and quiet, but full of as much menace as the blade. "You've got ten seconds to explain what the hell you're doing in here."


	13. Here and gone

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Sorry the last chapter was a necessary transition, but a chunk of summary. This one's better. For you non HL fans, we're moving into the third movie here._

**Sword and Sorcery **

13. Here and gone

**New York, January, 1994**

Connor's voice was low and quiet, but full of as much menace as the blade at Balthazar's throat. "You've got ten seconds to explain what the hell you're doing in here."

The sorcerer opened his palm and light flooded the area, showing Connor who he was menacing. His expression was bland. "Wasn't expecting you. How's John?"

"Balthazar?" The look of shock was clear, and the sword was quickly but carefully pulled away. "Don't do that! I almost _**killed**_ you!" He seemed too alarmed over that possibility to be truly angry. The light showed him pale, unshaven, haggard, and his shirt carried bloodstains and bullet holes. He'd also cut his hair shorter. It suited him, but made him look subtly older.

"I'm not going to die until Morgana is destroyed." Balthazar answered calmly. "You look like hell." He'd been drinking, and he knew it showed in his lack of caution. He also knew he was looking haggard and older, although the last was a glamour.

"I feel like hell." Connor's gaze flickered over him, wary, concerned, even a little afraid. When he moved in to give a one-armed hug it was tentative, as if he was expecting to be attacked or at least pushed away.

Balthazar hugged back gently, a little uncertain, and feeling the ache of the years apart. "Nothing you won't recover from, I hope?" He asked after a moment.

Connor's hug lacked the usual force, and Balthazar hoped it was only because the man was exhausted. Connor considered the question very seriously for a moment. "I don't know yet." He sighed. "I was going upstairs…"

"Do you want me to go?" Balthazar watched him uncertainly.

"No. Please? I was going to come see you, actually, but I've only been in New York…" He squinted at his wristwatch in the magic light, "Five hours, and I just got home now…" Connor rubbed his face wearily and added, "John's fine, I left him in Marrakesh with a friend. He should be safe there."

The sorcerer's expression was closed. He wasn't quite sure if he believed Connor or not, but he nodded slowly. "All right, let's go up. What's going on?"

Connor prodded at the elevator button, as if uncertain the electricity would still be on. "Have you been watching the news? They're excavating Nakano's cave…"

"I hadn't heard that, actually." He rubbed his chin. It hardly sounded like the kind of thing to make the front headlines. "This brings you here why?"

Connor slumped against the wall of the elevator as it rose. "Nakano's killer was still alive inside it… and he saw me escape all those centuries ago."

Both his eyebrows went up. "…I see. Has he come after you yet?"

"I just killed one of his henchmen in the hospital basement. I remember there being two…" Connor looked wretched. "His name is Kane. I think he's a sorcerer, too."

Balthazar was quiet a moment, then reached out and pulled the heavy Encantus out of the air. "I don't know the name… but he can't be _**that**_ good if he let himself get trapped for centuries." He thumbed through the dusty pages.

"Even if Nakano was the one who set the trap?" Connor staggered out of the elevator and down the metal stairs, collapsing into the first seat he reached. Everything was shrouded in white cloth and dust.

"Depends. Just rock shouldn't do it. If there were additional enchantments," He shrugged, pacing with the book. "Nakano was good, although his genius was more in the making of enchanted objects…"

"He knew Kane was coming." Connor sat with his eyes closed, looking ready to fall asleep where he was. "I was just learning about swords. I didn't notice if he set up magic."

"This him?" Balthazar turned the book toward Connor, open to a page with an elegant portrait of Nakano and Kane facing off. "Creepy looking son of a bitch."

His head rolled up, eyes opening, and the corner of his mouth twitched briefly. "Yes to both."

Balthazar nodded and turned the book back to read the page. "It says no legitimate master of the Art would take him on, neither Merlinian nor Morganian, but he taught himself a little somehow. That's interesting…" He shut the book with a puff of dust.

Connor dazed dully into space until the Encantus slammed shut. "What is that? Some kind of directory?"

"My Encantus." Balthazar vanished it away back into storage. "It has the history of magic, a few spells… self-updates. Useful thing." Balthazar sat on a cloth-covered chair. "He's not a follower of Morgana, so he's technically not my business. On the other hand, I don't like the idea of him running around New York…"

Connor sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "If I was asking _**you**_ to fight him, I wouldn't be worried. Marrakesh has been quiet. I'm rusty. If I do fail…" He turned an intent, sober gaze on Balthazar.

"You sure you want to take him on alone?" He frowned. "I know there are rules, but… I _**could**_ just put him in the Grimhold…"

"One on one. No interference." Connor looked deeply tired. "Don't you think I owe it to Nakano?"

"I've never been big on revenge." He shook his head. "But I understand honor. What do you need from me?"

"It's not revenge, it's…" He didn't sound angry or vengeful, just tired. "I need to know what to look out for, I guess."

"I'm not sure what help I can be. He's not operating by my rules. No ring, no circle." Balthazar shrugged. "The Encantus says he can shapeshift, so I'd watch out for that, but his magic's unstable."

"Is unstable bad for him, or bad for me?"

"Both, probably. It damages the surrounding area, mostly. Probably why he couldn't find a teacher."

Connor nodded, back to staring vacantly into the middle distance. He still looked pale and drained. "…Don't tell Rachel I'm here? I can't see her until this is over. If he's already got his goons here…" With a heavy sigh he pulled off his sweater, and put his fingers idly through the bullet holes. Shirtless he was a little dirty, crusted with blood, but the injuries were gone without a scar.

"I won't, if you promise to visit her once it's all over. She's out of town right now, anyway."

He looked just a little surprised, glancing up. "Of course." His gaze dropped again. "It's… good to see you again…"

"Sure… likewise." Balthazar found himself uncertain of that. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? I'll keep watch."

Connor looked at him a long moment, conflicting emotions in his eyes, but he'd grown quieter and more reserved over the intervening years. It was almost as if he was still in mourning, seven years later. He stood slowly, moving like an old man. "…Thanks. I won't take long."

"Take your time." He nodded, his own expression closed.

Connor wandered off to shower and change, and re-emerged looking cleaner but not much better otherwise.

Balthazar stared out the window, making small, glowing gestures in the air. He heard Connor in motion behind him, picking up the katana and looking it over. The immortal came to stand close by, looking out at the faint hint of dawn in the sky.

"…He's hard to track," Balthazar said after a moment. "I'm not even sure he's in the city now…"

"He'll find me. I guess all I can do is try to prepare."

"Anything I could do to help would be cheating." The sorcerer sighed. "But you can call on me if you need anything."

"Thanks. I'm… sorry if I've leaned on you too much already." He stood there tracing the carvings of the sword hilt, looking down.

"Connor…" Balthazar hesitated, then slumped. "Don't forget he can be anyone, anything. Be careful. And don't be a stranger." He gave a weak, sad smile.

"Heh. Trust no one, then." He nodded, and gave a quiet, sad smile back.

Balthazar nodded. "I'm out of it. I'll see you around."

"I'll… let you know once it's over." This was assuming he won, of course, which he didn't look entirely confident of. His passion had faded.

"Good. Take care." Balthazar teleported out of the room, fading back into his own home.

Over the next few days, Balthazar kept track of Connor from a distance. He kept a low profile, dividing his time between a Dojo in Queens, where he could find a variety of opponents to spar with, and home. The sorcerer suspected his time at home included rigorous practice, too. It looked like a strict and joyless schedule. It was four days after his arrival, late in the evening, that Connor came to see him again, carrying a duffel bag. Balthazar met him at the door quickly, and led him inside.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be here…" Connor seemed to have recovered from that first bad night, but he also looked a little shaken, and was trying to hide it, badly.

"I thought you might come by. You fought him?"

"He… came for me. On holy ground." He put his bag on the counter and pulled something out. It was the familiar carved ivory hilt of his katana, dragon head snarling at the end, but there was only an inch or so of the blade left.

Balthazar looked alarmed. "…How?"

"It just… shattered. Dust. What could I do? He broke the rules…" Connor was deeply distraught, but quietly so. The way he held the carved hilt showed his hands were trembling slightly.

"Did his break, too?" Balthazar took it gently from his hands, frowning.

"…No, but he… flew away." His shoulders were slumped. "I booked a flight to Scotland. The old forge should still be there… and if he followed me to New York he can follow me there."

"I still have a piece by Nakano. Maybe you should take it to defend yourself in the meantime…"

Connor smiled weakly. "Thanks, but I have other swords. It… was Ramirez's, you know. He's the one who told me about Nakano."

Balthazar nodded in understanding. "All right… I'm sorry it happened, though."

"Maybe I shouldn't have come here at all…" Connor took the hilt back and put it away in the bag, then rubbed his face. "I'm too close to Rachel, too close to you… and now this woman is asking questions. An archeologist from the dig site…"

"Mm. How much does she know?"

"She saw the fight… I don't know. Too much. I have to go. The police know I'm here, too, and when they find severed heads, they go looking for Russell Nash." The man he'd said he killed in the basement had made the paper the next day. Balthazar had been watching for any further decapitations.

"If that ever becomes a problem…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"I can change names, but not my face." Connor zipped up the bag with a heavy sigh. "I should go… but I'll be back if I can."

"I can fake a body, but you'd have to warn Duncan and Rachel first." Balthazar watched him quietly. "Good luck."

He nodded and shouldered the bag. "I'll keep it in mind." Connor sighed and turned to go, but when he drew even with Balthazar he gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder.

Not expecting it, Balthazar staggered slightly.

The highlander looked a little sheepish and drew away, moving on. "Thanks, again."

"Yeah… just don't get killed." He smiled slightly.

Connor gave him a weak smile, and left without another word. Balthazar watched him walk up the street and hail a cab a block down, and drift away from New York again.


	14. Family gathering

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_There's lots of loose ends after the third HL movie. One minute there's the climactic battle, the next it's all wrapped up and end credits. Welcome to the space in between._

**Sword and Sorcery **

14. Family gathering

It was over two weeks before Balthazar got a phone call from Rachel. "Did… Connor tell you he was in town?" There was something reserved about her tone, suppressed anger or anxiety, or both.

"…Yes?" He wasn't sure if he was about to be chewed out.

"…I see." She paused, icily. "Then you might like to know he's in police custody. They called me."

That couldn't possibly be good news. "…Does he need someone to bail him out?"

"They don't sound like they really have anything they can charge him with. They asked me questions… Connor knows how to handle himself." She sounded hurt.

"…He was here while you were out of town. Someone's after him. I told him to call you when it was over. Guess it's not over."

She took a slow breath, and when she spoke again her voice seemed calmer. "I… think I understand."

"You don't have to." Balthazar's voice was soft.

"I do have to, or I'll be angry at you both. I'm _**not**_ a wilting flower, you know, and I wouldn't have done anything rash."

"He asked me- never mind. He doesn't know how to deal with people. After centuries of fighting… it's hard to know… how not to hurt people." His voice shook slightly as his own words struck him, and he paused, then swiftly hung up.

By the time the timid knock came at the door, he was sitting on the floor of the shop with the Grimhold in his lap, and his finches perched on his shoulder. It took barely a gesture to pop the door open magically for her. He didn't want to get up. He didn't really want to see her, either, but he didn't have the heart to shut her out.

Rachel closed the door, and came to kneel on the floor beside him, a little stiffly. Her voice was gentle. "I'm not angry anymore. I'm sorry."

He didn't look at her, but his birds twittered softly. Balthazar watched his own hands move across the surface of the doll, trembling. "…Don't be. It's not your fault."

One of her hands slid gently onto his. "It's not yours, either."

"You can both move on. It's better that way, and I'm glad for you." His voice was barely audible, even to his own ears. The doll pulsed under his touch, drawing up the image of Veronica to shine briefly through the surface painting of Horvath.

Her delicate hand squeezed around his, and her head came to rest against his shoulder. Balthazar knew she was too self-aware not to have noticed the growing distance, and she made no protest, simply sat with him silently.

"If she ever gets free," He went on softly, "I won't be any good to her. It's been too long. I'm not who I was." Balthazar's trembling intensified. "…I wish she'd let Morgana kill me." He was only vaguely aware there were tears running down his face.

Rachel shifted position to wrap her arms around him. "We can still love people even when they change."

Balthazar could find nothing more to say, only dimly aware of her presence. Locked in his own misery, he simply sat and silently cried. In time, the birds tired of preening his hair and fluttered off to parts unknown in the shop. Where Rachel's head rested on his other shoulder was slightly damp. When his tears stalled out at last, he curled around the doll, exhausted and despondent. Her arms had been around him the entire time, but she stroked his back as he shifted position. Eventually she moved to get up off the floor, which took her a few attempts, stiff from sitting on the floor.

Slowly, he got up and opened the wall magically to put the doll back away in hiding. He didn't look at Rachel, who was making coffee and stretching subtly, as if trying to get the kinks out of her legs. Balthazar moved to an antique couch nearby and shifted boxes off it, then sat with his head resting in his hands. "I'm sorry. You don't have to stay."

"Don't be silly. I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to be here." She sank down on the couch beside him and put her arms around him again lightly. "And I think you're _very_ lovable."

He looked up to give her a pained smile, and stroked her cheek. "Thank you, Rachel. You're a good woman."

"Don't you forget it." She smiled back and pushed herself up again to fetch the coffee, wincing at the quiet pop of one knee.

Balthazar watched her quietly, accepting the coffee when she brought it to him. Before long, though, he began to sink into sleep curled around the arm of the couch. After kicking off her shoes, Rachel had curled up at the other end, and as the evening darkened into night they both slept.

Early morning, barely past dawn, there was a quiet knock on the door. It roused Balthazar from restless dreams, feeling like death warmed over. He went to open it, unsure if he was awake or still dreaming.

Connor was standing there, a good match for him, shadows around his eyes and looking grimy and drained. He looked guilty and apologetic on seeing Balthazar's state, and his gaze dropped to the ground. He shuffled on the front step, car parked at the curb behind him with the engine running softly. "Your lights were still on… I'm sorry… I can come back later, but… is Rachel…? She's not at home…" His voice was calm, but when he glanced up again there was restrained panic in his eyes. If he had gone to her home at such an hour, and found her gone, it must have been easy to guess at the worst.

"She's here." He answered hoarsely, and gestured to invite him inside.

The immortal let out a slow breath of a relief, and looked a little torn, glancing back at the car. "John is… can I bring him in?"

"Of course. Any time. But… she's not happy with you. You're going to get scolded."

Connor rubbed the back of his neck. "As long as it's quietly. He's asleep." He turned toward the car.

"Is it over?" Balthazar asked, watching him.

He nodded wearily. "This one is. I'm sorry. It… he kidnapped John, and…" Connor shook his head and paused, caught turned sideways to the shop, halfway between Balthazar and the car. "He brought him here to lure me, and when I got to the airport I was arrested…" He trailed off, still looking at the ground.

"It was the arrest that gave you away to Rachel. John's not hurt…?"

"Not hurt. Confused. Scared… They called her?" He looked up again, heavy with guilt.

"Yes… and she called me." Balthazar looked pained. "I can modify his memory if you want, but it might be better to work things through naturally."

Connor studied the ground, and toed a clump of frozen garbage. "I really can't protect anyone, can I…"

"Not by shutting them out. Go bring your son in; it's cold." Balthazar's voice was gentle.

"…That's why I left the heater running. He's used to Marrakesh…" Connor's voice was quiet and hollow, but he went to shut the engine off and extract the sleeping boy. At nine years old, he was getting just a little big to carry, and Connor was far from his peak. He seemed to struggle slightly to carry him up the steps.

Stirred by Balthazar's departure and the cold from the open door, Rachel came to the sorcerer's elbow just as Connor reached the top step. Balthazar backed up and very gently tugged Rachel with him to give Connor space. She looked angry, and tearful, but she simply nodded and stood aside.

Connor gave her a look full of grief and guilt, but then his grip slipped a little, and he was forced to stagger inside before he dropped the boy. With a gesture from Balthazar, things shifted around in the shop to give him a clear path, and extra pillows and blankets appeared on the couch. John stirred and mumbled as he was set down, but he did not wake. For a moment Connor just stood leaning on the arm of the couch, bent over the boy and catching his breath.

The sorcerer closed the door quietly, and went to fuss over John, tucking a blanket in around him.

"Thanks…" Connor slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the couch. There seemed to be some blood dried on his chin and jaw. "I'm… sorry. I can't fix anything…"

Rachel poked at the cold coffee from the evening before, as if looking for a distraction.

Balthazar rested a heavy hand on Connor's shoulder a moment, then only said, "I'll be in the back." The bout of grief, an awkward night on the couch, and Connor's surreal arrival in the predawn had left him feeling numbly tired.

Connor looked up at him. Guilt seemed to be an all-consuming emotion in his eyes, leaving room for little else.

"Would you like fresh coffee?" Rachel asked quietly, directing the question at Balthazar.

"I'm all right. You two…" He gestured listlessly. "…I'm going to change."

She nodded, and began to make fresh coffee anyways. Balthazar wasn't sure what to expect, but he heard no yelling. He took his time, returning fifteen minutes later dressed in pajamas and a woolen bathrobe, barefoot. Only the two rings were left on his hands; his heavy magic ring and the gold band he wore for Veronica.

He found Rachel sitting calmly on the couch, both hands around a cup of coffee. Connor had drawn his knees up, arms resting on them straight out and head bowed. A cup of milky coffee sat beside him on the floor, but it looked untouched. John was, blissfully, still asleep. Balthazar suspected the boy had suffered a long night, too.

Rachel looked flustered, seeing him dressed for bed. "Oh! We should… I'm sorry…"

"No, no. It's not a hint. Please, stay as long as you want. All of you." He looked awkward. One of the finches came to land on his shoulder.

"…She's right…" Connor's voice cracked, and he lifted his head slowly. "We should go… but I don't think I can carry him again." He forced himself to move, glancing over his shoulder at the boy with an expression of resignation.

Rachel watched him with concern, but she made no move to help him.

Balthazar asked quietly, "So you're leaving again?" He felt a pit beginning to open again, somewhere inside.

The highlander looked up, halfway to his feet, exhausted and guilty, and a little exasperated. "_**Just to the loft!**_ You need sleep. She needs sleep. I can't see straight…" He trailed off there. The drive to his place was only a few blocks, but it was debatable whether he was in any condition to drive even that short distance.

John stirred and blinked, looking around in evident fear. "D-dad?"

Balthazar looked at the child and sighed, relieved and a little chagrinned at his misinterpretation. "Okay. Can you make it on your own?"

Connor turned, still in a crouch on the floor, to embrace the boy gently. "I don't know." He answered Balthazar first, then more gently, "I'm right here, John."

The boy touched the blood on Connor's face, then looked all around again, wary. "It was all real, wasn't it?"

"It was real, but it's over." Connor sounded tired, but compassionate.

Rachel rubbed her eyes. "I… can drive you." She looked to Balthazar a little questioningly, evidently still concerned about him.

His gaze was still focused on John, but Balthazar said quietly, "I'm all right. Rest well."

"You're at Uncle Balthazar's. You're safe." Connor was murmuring to the boy. "We're… going back to my New York house. Aunt Rachel will take us. We both- all- need sleep."

John nodded, looking over Balthazar and Rachel in turn. In pictures he'd always looked like a quiet, serious child, and it was easy to guess who he'd learned it from.

Balthazar smiled gently back, trying to remember if any pictures of himself had been sent for John.

Connor hauled himself to his feet, and picked up his coffee just to keep it out of the way. John slid off the couch beside him, still wary, and looked up at his adoptive father. "We'll come back, right?"

"We'll come back. I promise." The immortal's eyes sought out Balthazar's as he spoke.

"You're always welcome." He murmured, returning the gaze. Balthazar felt old, and tired, but there was no anger.

Connor nodded and looked down, seeming to notice the coffee in his hand for the first time. He drank it all, quickly.

Rachel sniffed once, putting her shoes back on, and setting her cup on a table. She came over to give Balthazar a warm hug. "Take care of yourself B.B., please?" Her gaze searched his face, but it struck him that she looked like she was feeling tired and old, too.

"You, too, Rachel." He hugged her gently, kissed her cheek, and let go. Looking past her, he smiled at John. "Take good care of your dad, okay?"

The boy nodded soberly, one hand already twined in the sleeve of Connor's jacket. Tall for his age, his head almost reached the height of his father's chest.

Awkward and lost for words, Connor simply looked down again, until Rachel took him by the other arm and gently guided them both out. She gave Balthazar a last worried glance as they went.

He waved goodbye, but didn't follow them even as far as the door. After magically locking it behind them, he went to fall into bed, ignoring the growing morning light. He made no attempt to open the shop that day, and neither did he seek any of them out.


	15. Bridgies rebuilt

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_For those who hung in through the angst, here's some happy moments for our immortal buddies._

**Sword and Sorcery **

15. Bridges rebuilt

By the next evening, Balthazar's phone was ringing again. "It's Connor…" As if the distinctive, hoarse voice didn't give him away. "There's… dinner at my place, if you're hungry…" He sounded supremely awkward, and tired still.

There was a pause as Balthazar considered this, then he answered softly, "I'm on my way."

"…Thanks." Connor hung up, then, but it was a marginal improvement in phone manners.

Balthazar didn't bother to change, but came carrying a small round bauble in one hand. There were lights on in the building, and Connor was lurking in the doorway downstairs.

The immortal had cleaned up and even shaved, but there was a pervasive weariness. "I invited Rachel, too…"

"She's coming?" Balthazar hadn't bothered with shaving, and the brief glimpse he'd had of himself looked deeply ill.

"…Should I not have?" He looked as anxious as a child, expecting punishment.

"Connor…" Balthazar couldn't help but smile, a little amused, and he offered a hug. "It's okay."

"It isn't." The returned hug was lethargic and reserved, like everything else about him, but he leaned lightly against Balthazar for a long moment. "You look awful. John's having nightmares. I keep hurting everyone I touch."

"You aren't to blame. I just… there've been times I really could have used you around, and you weren't there." He sighed heavily. "But I understand. I think I can help with John's nightmares."

Connor led him up the stairs slowly. "I'm sorry… I'm not fit to be a friend, let alone a parent. Maybe it's me, maybe it's the Game. I seem to hurt you and Rachel whenever I am here, now."

"I think you'll find it's not you being here, but you being away." He followed, a hand on the railing. "But you lead a dangerous life; you can't help that. And it takes its toll."

"I don't want it to take its toll on the people around me…" Connor paused at the top, as if hesitant to open the door and go in. If John was waiting there, his presence would interrupt the conversation.

"I know. But sometimes you have to let other people take risks for you." He patted Connor's shoulder.

The younger man looked at him uncertainly, quietly upset over it all, and opened the door. John was perched on the back of a sofa by the wall, studying the old sepia-tone photos hung above it.

Balthazar had more to say, but his gaze flicked over to the boy. "Hey, John. I didn't get to say it before, but you're getting tall…"

John studied him somberly a moment. "Can you play catch?"

"Not in here. We'll go to the park tomorrow." Connor interrupted in a mild tone. He rested a hand on Balthazar's arm. "I need to go down and watch for Rachel. Damn neighborhood's gone downhill…"

"I _can_. I'm not that great at it." He looked at Connor, smiling. "Go ahead, but quit swearing in front of your kid."

John snickered quietly.

Connor flashed a weak smile at them both and went back down the stairs, without so much as scolding John for his precarious perch.

The boy drummed his heels lightly on the back of the sofa. It struck Balthazar that Connor must be a permissive father. He was being studied with dark, serious eyes.

The sorcerer hung up his coat and hat and came to sit on the sofa, a safe distance from John. "I was never any good at sports or games." He told the boy casually. "It was always work or study."

"…Oh. More like Uncle Jack. _**That's**_ my dad."He pointed at a photo of a college rugby team, clearly dated 1902.

Balthazar's gaze picked out Connor in the group, dressed the same as all the rest. He smiled at the picture. "Looks tough, doesn't he? I was in China at that time…"

John nodded slowly. "Dad says you're old." It clearly wasn't meant as an insult. He was only nine, after all.

"I'm even older than him, but for a different reason."

"Unhuh." He slid down with a bump to sit beside Balthazar, and smiled up at him shyly. "When can I see you do magic?"

Balthazar was mildly surprised the boy wasn't terrified of magic after his experience being kidnapped by Kane. "…Actually, I brought you something I made." He held out the bauble, a small golden ball with moons and stars carved into it.

He seemed a little hesitant to take it, studying it in Balthazar's hands first, with the wary reservation the sorcerer had been expecting. "Is _that_ magic?"

"It has magic in it. I know something scary happened to you. This has good memories stored in it. If you hold it, or put under your pillow while you sleep, it'll make you feel a little better."

"…So it won't turn into anything?" He asked cautiously, and reached out to trace the designs with one finger. A swirl of blue followed his touch.

"It'll change colors, and the stars shine, but that's all. It's pretty tough, you can throw it around."

He seemed entranced. "That's… wow…" John took it carefully, murmuring distractedly, "Merci beaucoup…"

"De rien." He smiled, watching the ball swirl in blue and violet and the stars twinkle fitfully in the boy's hands. The magic was subtle enough not to dull natural fear reactions, or make him addicted, but it would be some small comfort.

There were soft voices from the stairwell, Rachel's, and Connor's hoarse murmur.

John turned the ball around and around in his hands, then hopped off the couch abruptly and ran to assault Connor as he came in the door. "Dad! Dad! Look!"

Rachel blinked and stepped out of the way, giving Balthazar a tentative smile.

The sorcerer was amused, and a little nostalgic. He got up to greet Rachel, bowing slightly.

She gave him a hug and a pat on the arm, but studied his face with concern. "I hope you got _some_ sleep?"

"I did. Not much, but I'm used to it." He suspected he still looked ill, but he was feeling happier. He truly loved children.

Connor was bending down to look, while John repeated everything Balthazar had told him about the ball. "Did you say thank you?"

"I… I think so… didn't I?" John looked to Balthazar, already too distracted to remember his slip into French.

"Yes, you did," He nodded to John, then said to Connor, "Sorry if it was presumptuous, but… Merlin gave me one when I was a boy, after the fire. It'll wear out in a couple decades, but…" He shrugged.

Connor shook his head, and gave a small but deeply grateful smile. "Thank you. It's a wonderful gift." As John moved on to show the bauble to Rachel, he drifted toward the kitchen reluctantly.

Balthazar gave Rachel a gentle pat on the shoulder, and followed Connor. "Need any help?"

"I was going to make John set the table…" He shrugged, pulling a pan out of the oven. It looked like simple fare, chicken surrounded by potatoes and carrots, but it smelled wonderful. "He likes you… He likes hearing about you."

"What have you told him, exactly?" Balthazar got out silverware, surprised to find he remembered where it was kept.

"Some of the stories you've told me. I let him think they were made up, at first, but he's old enough now, he's learned to keep the secret. As he learned that, he started to learn the stories were real…" Connor shut the oven off. "Sometimes he asks me why I don't tell Jack…" The name was only vaguely familiar, from letters.

"I don't know Jack. He's bound to notice eventually, though. But that's your affair. I'm glad John knows the truth, even if it's an awkward truth."

"John has to. And anyway, Rachel was about his age when I found her, and she saw me get shot… I'll have to move, in a few years. I want him to be prepared for that."

"Connor… before you take John back to Marrakesh, I wonder if you could bring him to the shop again? I'm sorry, and I hope it comes to nothing, but I'd like to show him Merlin's ring."

He prodded at the chicken, frowning just a little. "I'm… not leaving right away." Connor gave a nod and a sigh. "Of course, but… don't get too excited. I didn't forget, you know. I've watched him. He's smart, but he doesn't seem to have any unusual abilities."

"Neither did Horvath and I. But it's a coincidence, and I was always taught to look deeply into coincidences. I just need to know. Anyway, he's a good kid. I like him."

Connor smiled slightly, nodding. "He _is_ a good kid. I can bring him by tomorrow. He wants to go to Central Park… want to come?" He bumped shoulders with Balthazar gently on his way to the fridge. "You look like you could use some sun. You're clearly not getting enough vitamin D."

Balthazar laughed softly. "Sure. I think I'd like that."

"If you aren't careful, he'll try to pull you into a makeshift baseball game." Connor seemed to be starting to relax, but his manner was quieter and more subdued than it had once been. It was hard to imagine him bounding playfully across the room, now. He set out salad, dressings, and the pan on the table. All the condiment bottles were new, as if he'd had to stock the kitchen after the loft had sat empty so long. He must have lived on very little, when he'd stayed there a few weeks before.

"I've never actually played," Balthazar confessed, pouring ice water for everyone.

"Oh, don't tell him _that_!" Connor smirked. "…Wine? Or is that a bad idea?"

"I shouldn't. I need to cut back." Balthazar smiled weakly. "But don't let me stop you."

He shook his head. "I… try not to, in front of John…" Balthazar suspected that didn't mean he was averse to getting drunk after the boy was in bed. Connor poured a glass of milk and put it on the table. "He may get distracted, anyway. He's never seen snow before. At least not since he was about two…" He trailed off, gaze distant. That would have been when Brenda died, and Connor took the boy away to the desert.

"I think a snowball fight may be in order, then." Balthazar stroked his arm reassuringly, then asked, "Should I call them?"

"…What?" Connor blinked at him, looking a little lost. "Oh… yeah. It's probably cool enough."

"Okay." He studied the immortal's expression a moment, then went to fetch Rachel and John. When they came to the table, Connor was bringing bread and butter, and he seemed to have pulled his mind back to the present.

John sat where the glass of milk had been put, and fell quiet for dinner, intent on the food.

Rachel also politely refused Connor's offer of wine, and he noticed her manner seemed just slightly reserved, at least in comparison to the easy affection she'd always shown toward her adoptive father before. She was reasonably friendly, though, and there was no hint of anger.

Slowly, carefully, Connor explained the sequence of events since Kane's release. It was clearly edited for John's sake, a simple recitation of the basics, but it included a mugging that ended with him in the hospital, that first night he'd arrived in New York weeks ago. His story also included and archeologist from the dig that had released Kane, a woman he called Alex. Evidently her role in bringing him the last piece of Nakano's steel bar stock had been crucial to forging a worthwhile sword, and she had stayed on in Scotland while he trained, returning with him in his race to reach John. His story ended without mention of her after his arrest, however. He ate little, and looked drained by the end of the story. Even when good scotch loosened his tongue, Connor was not by nature a talkative man.

John was wide-eyed for parts of the narrative, but he kept quiet, almost as though he'd been taught not to talk at the dinner table.

The meal was a good one, and Balthazar found he had a reasonable appetite, but listened to much of the story with a raised eyebrow. At the end he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, privately thinking another woman might be good for John and Connor both. At last he asked if Connor had plans.

"…No?" Connor smiled weakly, finishing off his water. "I… feel like I need to sort some things out here, though, and John's never seen the big city." He was watching the boy.

"We're going to the park tomorrow, right?" John asked tentatively.

Connor nodded. "I talked to Jack this morning, to let him know we won't be back right away. I _might_ still have a job, when we go back…" He left off uncertainly.

"Mm… well, be sure to visit while you're here." Balthazar glanced at Rachel, then John. "Make him take you to the zoo, too."

"There's a zoo? Can we? And your house was neat! Can we see a ball game?"

"John…" It was the gentlest of reprimands, delivered with a tired smile. "there isn't any baseball until spring, and… we have time to see the rest."

John nodded and squirmed in his seat, trying to curb his enthusiasm. Abruptly he turned to look up at Rachel. "Do you like chocolate Aunt Rachel? Dad bought a cake."

Connor gave a sudden raspy laugh, a sound Balthazar realized he hadn't heard in a long time.

The sorcerer grinned. "I've been invited to join you at the park tomorrow, so maybe we'll stop by my place then." He received a distracted nod from the child in reply.

Rachel looked amused. "I can't say no to chocolate, and maybe I can take you to the zoo?" She smiled at Connor, but her gaze was questioning. "And maybe we should serve the cake, since they put out dinner."

Connor nodded, and sat back comfortably. He hadn't cleaned his plate, but it didn't look like he was going to, by that point.

Balthazar looked approving. "I'll even do dishes, but later."

"No, no, you're guests… and I have a dishwasher."

John squirmed. "_Dad may I be excused please to serve the cake?_"

"Yes, just be careful and let Rach-"

The boy was off like a shot.

"Well by doing the dishes I meant-" He broke off in a laugh, watching John's chair rock slightly as he bolted for the kitchen.

Rachel grinned at them, excused herself politely, and went to help.

Connor smiled after them, but his words were for Balthazar. "Don't worry about it." He rubbed his face, and looked a little surprised not to encounter stubble.

"Feeling any better?" Balthazar watched him closely.

"…Tired. I'm just… tired." He ran a hand through his hair, which only made it stick out every which way. "I don't know what to do about Alex."

"Does she know the truth yet?"

"The basics. She's a researcher. She worked it out and told me. I didn't see much point in denying it, by then. And she's…" His expression turned awkward, "She looks _**so**_ much like a woman it never worked out with, but I know that's a terrible reason."

There was giggling from the kitchen.

Balthazar was quiet a moment, considering. "If you can be with _her_, not with the memory of the other woman… it might be good for you. And for John. But only you can know if that's possible."

"I don't know. He hasn't met her yet… and I won't force anyone into his life that way."

"Take it slow, then. I'd like to see you come out of mourning, but I don't want to see you hurt again."

Defensive, he frowned mildly at Balthazar. "I'm not…! I just don't want…" He gave up with a soft curse in Gaelic and looked away.

"Lie to me, if you must, but be honest with yourself. There's no shame in it." Balthazar sipped his water and sighed.

"I wasn't trying to _lie_ to you!" He sounded aggravated, showing a flash of the temper Balthazar remembered. "I just… don't know what I…" He composed himself quickly, or at the very least broke off to look bewildered.

Rachel and John were carrying the cake in together, and there were lit candles in it.

Balthazar watched him sadly, but he, too, was distracted by the cake. "…Is it your birthday, Connor?"

"I… it's in January, but I don't… know the exact day."

"And you never celebrate it unless somebody makes you." Rachel added with an impish grin. "We got to talking in the kitchen, and I found candles left over from one of mine…"

Balthazar laughed softly. "Congratulations, then. I wish I'd known."

"How old are you, dad?" John beamed as they nudged Connor's plate aside and set the cake in front of him.

"I… forgot. It's been busy." Connor looked sheepish and closed his eyes a moment, but apparently it wasn't to make a wish but to do a calculation. "Four-hundred seventy-six."

"I don't think we had that many candles." John looked impressed.

Rachel nudged the immortal gently. "You're supposed to make a wish."

"Oh. Y-yeah…" He shut his eyes again for a long moment, then blew the candles out in one go.

Balthazar was quietly amused, and contributed to the affair by causing the smoke to shimmer and curl away in abstract patterns. "You'd need a bigger cake."

John clapped on seeing the smoke. "Did you do that? When's your birthday, Uncle Ba- Uncle B.B.?" Clearly Rachel had passed on the nickname.

He glanced over and saw her hugging Connor from behind, head close to his. "Happy birthday papa, and… welcome home."

Balthazar nodded and smiled at John. "June. June 19th, as I recall, but I haven't celebrated it since,,, the last time I had a student. 1920-something."

Connor rubbed at one eye suddenly, turning away slightly as if he didn't want the boy to see. Rachel patted him on the shoulder and left to fetch small plates and the knife.

"What kind of cake do you want?" John seemed oblivious to his father's moment of emotion.

Balthazar noticed, glancing at Connor, but he answered John. "We didn't _have_ chocolate when I was little. I always liked berries. Strawberry shortcake…" He smiled at the boy. "I get one too, then? Don't try to fit thirteen-hundred candles on it."

"You didn't _**have**_ chocolate?" This was so serious it apparently distracted him from Balthazar's age for a moment.

"Does anyone want milk or coffee?" Rachel cut the cake.

"No, it wasn't brought to Europe until I was about nine-hundred. Coffee would be wonderful. I could make some, you're busy."

"Thanks B.B." She smiled gratefully. "There _should_ be some decaf…"

"Can I have more milk please?" John fetched his glass.

Connor cleared his throat softly, voice even raspier than usual. "Coffee would be good."

Balthazar thumped him gently on the shoulder, then took John's glass and headed toward the kitchen.

Connor gave him a watery smile.

John trotted after the sorcerer doggedly. "What else was different when you were my age? What was this place like then?"

While he poured the boy another glass of milk, and made coffee, Balthazar told him what he could about his own childhood in a little village in Wales. He described the kind of games they played, and the kind of chores he'd had to do as a farmer's only son, before he'd fallen into Merlin's care. Even as they returned to the table, John kept him talking with lots of questions.

Rachel had always been happy to hear stories of Balthazar's past, and watched with sparkling eyes, while Connor listened quietly, looking tired still but much more content.

After cake, they moved to the couches near the tall windows, and John asked for stories from all of them. Rachel reminisced about small adventures growing up with Connor, while the highlander himself told a slightly swashbuckling tale from his time as a sailor, but before he reached the end John was asleep across his lap. His voice wound down as he noticed.

Balthazar watched the sleeping child a moment, smiling, then got up to take his leave, shaking Connor's hand. The immortal looked sheepish and apologetic, but the way his other hand rested on the boy's back was gently protective.

Rachel hugged Balthazar warmly, and made him promise to take care of himself, before he bid them goodnight and saw himself out.


	16. Home for some

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

**Sword and Sorcery **

16. Home for some

Late in the morning, Balthazar answered a rapid knocking on his door. There was a half-eaten apple in his hand, and he was feeling vastly improved. John beaming up at him from the porch only made him smile all the more.

Connor was leaning casually against the railing, behind the boy, but apparently he'd let John knock. "Maybe I should have called first…"

Already the boy was trying to peer past Balthazar to see inside the shop.

"Don't be silly. I expected you." He backed up to let them in. "Don't break anything, okay John? Most of the dangerous stuff is in cases, but don't touch the big red urn, I just got it in."

"Dad's work rules, remember?" Connor added. All Balthazar could remember of Connor's work was that it had some connection to a museum. The letters had all been vague and short.

John nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, then started trying to look at everything at once.

Balthazar took another bite of apple, and watched John approach a table of musical instruments. "There's no real organization at the moment…"

"Maybe dad could work for you?" He kept his hands firmly in his pockets, but studied everything intently.

Connor, trailing after them, raised an eyebrow.

"You know, I've worked alone for so many years I'm not sure how to do that." Balthazar grinned and came over to pick up a set of pan pipes.

"I'm not sure I'd make a good employee... I don't respect his authority." Connor smirked and leaned against the small section of counter that wasn't cluttered.

"Aw…" John looked disappointed, but was quickly distracted, looking to see what the sorcerer might do with the pipes.

"These sing with two voices… my son was a musician; he had some like them." He gently blew 'Mary had a Little Lamb', and behind the simple tune a thread of wildly beautiful grace notes unwound.

John watched in awe, and Connor closed his eyes and tilted his head as he listened. When Balthazar paused, John asked, "You have a son?"

"Had." He smiled gently. "About four hundred years ago, in South America. You'd have liked him, he loved games."

"Oh… um. He wasn't like you and dad?"

Connor looked pained, turning away to study the nearest artifact.

"No, he was mortal. I adopted him."He offered John the pipes. "Want to try?"

John nodded, accepting this, and looked to Connor. "Can I dad?"

"Hm?" Connor looked back at them and shrugged. "Sure. As long as he says you can. He's like the curator."

The boy grinned and took the pipes, trying a few careful notes, but it didn't sound like he had any musical training. Even so, the grace notes tweeted like birdsong, and after a moment the finches appeared, landing on a nearby table. Balthazar chuckled and pointed them out.

"…Where did those come from?" Connor eyed the birds as if he was unsure if they were real. They must have escaped his notice, before.

John giggled and tried a few more notes.

"Rachel. She heard me talking about wanting a pet." The birds bobbed and twittered.

"We have horses." John reached very tentatively toward them.

"That… was sweet of her." Connor looked sheepish.

"They're friendly." One of the birds landed lightly on John's finger. "She's… been good to me."

John grinned and played the pipes at the bird, one-handed.

"…Good. I haven't…" Connor said quietly.

"Connor, it's… it's water under the bridge." He reached out and patted the immortal's shoulder. "Forget about it."

He smiled weakly. "I still don't know how long Russell Nash can stay in New York. The police keep looking for me to step out of line."

"My offer stands… Or I could do a temporary glamour, but… mm. They're hard to maintain."

"What offer?" He looked slightly confused.

"Fake Nash's death." Balthazar shrugged and whistled softly, and the birds flew to John's shoulders.

"And my face?" Connor rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I already know how to fake a death, I just need somebody to bust me out of the mo- uh…" He glanced at John.

The boy was oblivious to their conversation, trying to hold still for the birds while giggling with delight. The finches were trying to preen John's hair.

"…We can talk about it later." Balthazar gently took the pipes back and put them away. "Their names are Lily and Rose." He withdrew behind the counter. "Hey, John… you like dragons?"

"_**Real**_ ones?" His eyes grew very wide.

Balthazar blinked, then chuckled. "I've never seen a real one, myself, but my master told me he had, a long time ago. No, this is a figurine."

"What can you expect him to think?" Connor smiled a little, gesturing to the bizarre assortment of artifacts around them.

John approached the counter carefully, trying not to disturb the birds.

"Good point." He got out a dusty box and opened it carefully, getting out a tiny metal dragon with a green gem set in its back. "This belonged to Merlin. He gave it to me to take care of."

Connor straightened, apparently realizing the significance of this, while his son leaned close over the counter. He was tall for his age, but the glass was still not much below his chin.

John looked awed, then gave Balthazar a questioning look. "Can I touch it?"

"Sure, it's not fragile." He placed it in John's hand gently, watching the gem wink fitfully, but the dragon did not move. John stroked its head and back with one finger, charmed.

Connor watched intently, then met Balthazar's eyes with a searching gaze.

The sorcerer let out a soft sigh and shook his head at Connor, half relieved, half disappointed. "The green stone is called a beryl," He told the boy after a moment. "They're often used in sorcerer's rings." He drew out a tray of rings to show him, gently putting the dragon away. It was easy enough to segue into other topics, but after a while the finches flew away to other perches, and he caught the first hints of John's attention waning. Connor was the one who looked almost disappointed at the suggestion that they go on to the park. He'd been watching and listening over John's shoulder.

"We brought a ball and gloves…" The boy eagerly led both men out to the car.

"Uhoh." Balthazar smiled. "I throw like a girl…" He didn't really, but he knew they were still likely to outmatch him in skill.

"…Can you catch?" John looked disappointed.

"Are you two in the back, or…" Connor got the car door for them.

"I'll be fine." Balthazar was amused, and slid into the back seat with the boy, who grinned at him and buckled up without needing to be told. On the drive he asked if Balthazar knew how to ride a horse, and seemed immensely relieved to find the sorcerer was knowledgeable.

Although Balthazar proved better at catch than he'd advertised, John was distracted by the snow, the trees, everything that was new and foreign. When Connor threw a pitch that felt hard enough to dislocate Balthazar's shoulder, he called an end to the game, and said he was obviously too old for baseball. He pointed out such animals and birds as there were out, and mused about ice skating. The sorcerer also proved his cunning when they turned to fighting with snowballs, until John was shivering hard enough that his teeth chattered, although he insisted he was 'only a little cold'. More bemused than concerned, Connor took them swiftly back to the car, giving John a piggy-back ride partway. His physical stamina seemed to have returned.

It was well past lunchtime, and Balthazar offered to buy at a nearby café. As soon as lunch was mentioned, John announced he was starving. Connor took directions there, and insisted they all get hot chocolate, which was precisely what Balthazar had in mind. The place he'd directed them to was more of a gourmet candy shop with a deli attached, and after John had ravenously devoured his lunch, and Connor had eaten enough of his to satisfy Balthazar, they looked over the larger part of the shop. So indulgent in other ways, Connor was restrictive about candy, and only allowed John a small amount, most of it to be saved for after dinner. Balthazar bought himself a little honeycomb candy, feeling incredibly content with the outing. None of them seemed sure what to do next, but Connor invited him back to the loft, and the sorcerer agreed, never particularly concerned about opening his shop. Connor parked in the garage at the side of the building, and led them toward the front entrance.

As soon as they rounded the corner, they could see a blonde woman at the gated door, pressing the buzzer fruitlessly. She was beautiful in a sharp, distinctive way, and she turned when she caught a glimpse of them and took a few steps their way. "Connor!"

He covered the space between them in just a few long strides, catching her arm hard, face serious. His harsh whisper just carried back to Balthazar and John. "On the street it's Russell Nash, remember?"

Balthazar raised an eyebrow, glancing down at John for his reaction. The boy looked a little puzzled, but not distressed.

The woman's gaze shifted past Connor, thin eyebrows lifting, then she looked down a little pointedly to the hand on her arm. "Sorry. I just came by to see you… but I guess it's not a good time."

Connor's grip relaxed and slid down her arm to squeeze her hand briefly before letting go. His expression was turning sheepish and awkward now, as he turned back to them. "This… is John, and a friend, Balthazar Blake."

Balthazar frowned at Connor, not sure he liked seeing any woman approached so harshly, but he observed that _she_ didn't seem hurt or offended. She also looked capable of standing up for herself. Connor always did seem drawn to strong women. He took off his hat and bowed to her. "Charmed. You would be… Alex, was it?"

"Dr. Alexandra Johnson." She smiled and moved away from Connor to offer Balthazar a handshake, but gave Connor an arched look in passing. It struck him that she might have only taken the gesture so calmly because of the company. "And it's nice to finally meet you, John. Your father talks about you a lot."

"Really?" John looked slightly shy, standing close against Balthazar. "He said you helped with the new sword."

She looked just a little taken aback by that.

Released from the handshake, Balthazar suggested gently, "Maybe we should go in…?"

Connor looked deeply insecure for a moment, glancing back and forth between the two adults.

Alex took the situation swiftly in hand for him. "It was nice meeting you, but I can come back another time if you're having a boy's day."

"I…" Connor sighed. "I'll call you later. I promise."

She looked amused. "That's fine."

Balthazar smiled, "Pleasure meeting you, Miss Johnson. Drive safely, I think we're going to get more snow." He gently led John to the front door.

Alex leaned in and kissed Connor, adding in a throaty murmur, "It's okay, and _**you're**_ too old to be so awkward about this." She walked away before he had a chance to respond, but he frowned after her and came to let Balthazar and John in.

The boy was quiet until they were halfway up the stairs. "Dad? I thought you said you liked her?"

Balthazar coughed to hide a smirk. "Your dad has a strange way of showing people he likes them sometimes."

Connor glowered at the sorcerer and ran a hand through his hair. "I do. It's just… complicated."

John watched his father, still puzzled. After some thought he added, "But you said she already knows that stuff."

Connor held the door to the loft for them, wordlessly.

Balthazar chuckled softly. "Better let him think it over some, John. The older you get, the harder these things seem."

Following them in, Connor gave a sigh, looking frustrated but defeated. "There's no fool like an old fool, and your father is an old man."

"Da-ad!" John rolled his eyes and went to put the baseball and gloves away, dumping his coat on the floor as he went.

Connor calmly picked the boy's coat up and hung it on the rack, then added his own. "_Should_ I have invited her in?"

Putting up his own coat and hat, Balthazar shrugged. "Neither of _us_ would mind, but if you need time, you need time."

"I called her when it was over, to let her know John and I were okay, but…" He gave Balthazar a pleading look. The stoic mask seemed to have faded a little ever since Rachel had given him the birthday surprise. "I don't know what's right for John, and…" Connor looked down, "I don't know if I can take… all that, again."

"Dad? Can I have a sword?" John flopped down on a couch at the far end of the room.

"No." Connor didn't even look the boy's way.

"I don't know what to tell you, Connor. There's always a risk."

"_**You**_ don't take that risk." He turned away slightly. "I know it's not for the same reason, but…"

John drummed his heels against the sofa idly.

Balthazar was wounded. "…Because she's trapped in a block of wood with her worst enemy, and if I let them out, Morgana's power could consume the world. I envy you, Connor."

Immediately Connor's expression turned deeply guilty. "I'm… I'm sorry. I'll figure it out. I shouldn't have…"

Squirming around and trying to do acrobatics on the couch, John fell off with a thump.

Balthazar took a deep breath, shaken, but turned at the noise from John. "Uh… you okay in there?"

"Yeah…"

Connor rubbed his face and called, with weary patience, "Is anything broken?"

"No."

He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. You just… seem to handle it all so much better." There was admiration in his words, even if his phrasing was terrible.

"I do? I guess… I have to. I can't break down for long, or they could all break loose and billions of people would die. Because of _me_. I just… have no choice." He was flattered, in a way, but it was outweighed by the enormity of his burden.

Connor watched him searchingly, still looking apologetic. "I just thought, you're older, and you're _definitely_ smarter… and maybe you'd just found a better way, somehow."

Balthazar stared into space thoughtfully. "You've never seen me during an off-decade."

"…That's when I _should_ have been here?"

The piano began to plink very softly, tunelessly. It seemed unlikely that Connor owned any board games, and John had been sent off to New York with very few toys.

"No, I mean a _**really**_ off-decade." He smiled weakly, ignoring the background noise. "As far as I can tell, human capacity for suffering is almost infinite. Sometimes people bend, break, die, but it's got little to do with any kind of limit the universe sets. That's the bad news. The good news is the capacity for joy is just as limitless, and every moment can bring you either. You just have to take joy when you can, where you can, and hope it all balances out somehow." He rubbed his chin. "Trying to defend yourself is futile. You're going to suffer. I can't tell you you'll never lose anyone again; it would be a lie. But every second counts, and you can love and be loved here and now. Only you can decide if it's worth the price. If it's not, I might as well let the world go straight to hell, because the chance is all we're guaranteed."

Connor gave a slow nod and studied the floor, then reached to pat Balthazar's shoulder with a weak smile. "See, I knew you were full of wisdom." He rubbed his face. "I hope I've brought you _some_ happiness. I'm sure Rachel has…"

The keyboard cover of the piano thumped as it was closed, and John uttered a meek "Sorry…"

Connor sighed wearily. "He's bored here. No desert to run in or horses to ride… or other kids."

Balthazar put his hand on Connor's shoulder in return, and smiled a little. "I'm a teacher; I try. And I've told you- you give me hope." He looked toward the main room. "Poor kid… should we…?"

"I know I still have plenty to learn." Connor sighed, but looked grateful as he led the way. "I don't know what to do with him. He can't run loose here." The boy had moved to stare out one of the high windows.

"I'll be around a while." Balthazar smiled warmly, and produced a set of dice from his pocket as he went to John.

He proceeded to teach Connor and John both an ancient dice game, and told stories as they played. Connor seemed relieved, playing along, but also distracted. The afternoon passed peacefully enough, though, and Connor gave in to laziness and ordered pizza, but made the boy eat a Clementine first as a vague nod to nutrition. After dinner the boy was allowed to watch television, and Balthazar made a quiet farewell with a few suggestions to keep John busy, and an open invitation to the shop.

Over the next week Connor seemed to rely on Balthazar and Rachel both to help keep John occupied, although he was apologetic about it. Balthazar couldn't complain, delighted to be Uncle B.B. for the boy. It was clear he was busy in the time it gave him, making arrangements to set up tutoring for John, some of it in peer groups. It seemed to be a temporary arrangement, and an expensive one. The sorcerer also gained the impression that Connor was, however tentatively, spending time talking with Alex. She was more formally introduced to them all at a nice dinner out. The woman seemed pleasant, but more intellectual and quieter than Brenda had been. It matched Connor though, with his own quieter, more reserved ways. She was warm toward John, but not exactly motherly. Balthazar was cordial to her, but found himself waiting to see what might happen between her and Connor before getting too attached.

While John adored his Uncle Balthazar and Aunt Rachel, he seemed lukewarm toward his father's love interest. Connor, on the other hand, seemed quietly very taken with her, but his devotion to John and unwillingness to foist a new mother figure on him clearly left him torn.

February passed with Connor staying on in New York, awkwardly dating Alex and obviously trying to rebuild the bridges with Rachel and Balthazar, but John seemed increasingly unhappy. Marrakesh was home for him, and he spoke of it fondly, often, and of his friends there. Balthazar did what he could to keep the boy from going stir-crazy, offering trips, games, and a little tutoring in music on the side. Lessons were keeping him busier, but the homesickness was impossible to miss.

Connor and Rachel had talked of reopening the antique shop in New York, and as winter began gradually to thaw, Balthazar felt an underlying uncertainty about how much longer the fragile family would hold together.


	17. Evening in the park

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Our characters are past due for some good old-fashioned action and adventure._

**Sword and Sorcery **

17 Evening in the Park

It was early March, late at night, when Balthazar made a phone call. "Connor? It's Blake…" He knew he was out of breath.

"Ngnh… What's wrong?" The swift roll into alertness was audible over the phone.

"Just a warning- you better keep John away for a couple weeks. Rachel, too. I've got trouble." It felt like an understatement, but he didn't want to alarm the other man.

There was a beat as Connor absorbed this. "What kind of trouble? Do you need help?" Keeping John busy had become a little easier thanks to tutors, and having Rachel watch John could probably tie them both up. All the same, it was sorcerer business.

"An old friend of Horvath's. I thought I'd taken care of him a few decades ago, but he's pulled himself back together… creatively. You don't want in on this." Balthazar restrained a shudder.

"I want to help my friends when they need it." This was almost a warning growl, the kind that had the potential to lead into quiet rage. Balthazar hadn't heard that tone often, at least not directed at himself, but he knew Connor had been making a serious effort to be there for his family and friend since his return.

There was a moment of silence as he considered, then gave in. The immortal was a good man to have at your back, and a bad one to have at your throat. He gave an address in Chinatown. "There's an herb shop. Can you meet me there?"

"I'll be there." The menace was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Hopefully he was saving it up for the Morganian. "Am I allowed to tell Rachel the why?" He seemed to be learning, too.

"Might as well, just make her promise to stay away." Balthazar sighed, and gazed forlornly up the street to his damaged shop. "He ate my birds, man. _**Ate**_ them!"

There was a bewildered silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. "Unh… I'll bring my sword." The phone clicked quietly as Connor hung up.

Within half an hour, Balthazar was waiting at the herb shop. Despite the hour, it was open, and he sipped tea and spoke quietly in Cantonese to the teenage boy at the counter. He felt Connor enter before he saw him, and only glanced back. The force of the immortal's presence ruined his otherwise stealthy habits, and Connor was a brooding figure lurking just inside the door. "…oil or tinctures," Balthazar went on, focusing back on the shop boy. "Diluted is fine, but I need a lot."

"It will take time to prepare…"

"I don't have time. But I have plenty of money." He gave Connor an absent nod of greeting.

"…Understood." The boy bowed to them both and retreated into the back.

"…Oil of what?" Connor rubbed the back of his neck. "My Cantonese is rusty. I spent more time in Japan." His voice was a hoarse murmur, as if he was afraid of breaking the sanctity of the place.

"Essential oil of a couple different plants. He's into something very dark. The usual things may not be enough."

"What do you need me to do?" The highlander was intensely serious, a soldier waiting for orders.

Balthazar hated to let him down. "Trouble is… I'm not sure what good a sword will do. I'm pretty sure he's undead. I only just got out with the Grimhold."

Connor leveled a glower at nothing in particular. "If I take off his legs he'll move slower, no matter what he is."

Balthazar considered this, reminding himself anew never to get on Connor's bad side. "…Well, it's definitely worth a shot. It won't take him long to find me, but I don't really want to lead him here. Should we try drawing him to the park?"

"There shouldn't be anyone that matters there this time of night." Connor nodded.

Balthazar chose not to question that. "Let's see what they can turn up for me, first." He smiled. He'd expected to fight alone. "…Thanks."

Connor flashed a grim smile in return, all predator tonight. "You're welcome. Rachel's at my place for the night."

"Good. I don't think he'll come after you or her… I just didn't want there to be any accidents." He pulled the Grimhold out of his coat. "_**This**_ is what he wants, although I have doubts as to his plans with it now."

There was a flicker of relief in Connor's eyes. Threats to his family always seemed to be his greatest concern. "What could that be used for?" He shifted restlessly on his feet.

"Well most of them want to release the others, but theoretically it could also be used as a battery for a major spell."

Connor nodded slowly. "Any other convenient batteries around?"

"Me." Balthazar shrugged. "The spell that keeps me from aging is pretty powerful in and of itself, and I'm a sorcerer of the 777th level, so…"

Connor blinked at him. "What about a vulnerable immortal?"

"You're volunteering to be bait?" He considered this. "…You'd have to be leaking power to attract him."

Connor shrugged mildly, but there was the cunning of a hunter in his eyes. "The younger ones don't have much, and the older ones don't go down easy," There was no need to question which category he fell into. "But things can happen to make an older immortal vulnerable."

"What did you have in mind?" Balthazar traced the surface of the Grimhold with a fingertip, thoughtful.

"Can you fake a Quickening?"

The transfer of power when one immortal killed another would certainly attract attention. "I've only seen one… but yes, I think I could."

The boy returned with a wary-looking older woman carrying a large carved soapstone jar. They both waited politely for the men to look before speaking, and Connor retreated, falling silent.

"This is all we have," The woman spoke in accented English. "Why you need so much?"

"You're better off not knowing, ma'am." Balthazar said politely. "…but you can trust me. I knew your uncle well." There were moments when it paid to have been around for so long.

She tilted her head, sizing him up. After a moment, she nodded. "Take it and go. Whatever you fight, we don't want it here."

He smiled grimly, pulling out his wallet to pay generously, in cash. "No, you don't."

Connor breathed a very quiet sigh as they stepped out with the jar. "Your car, or mine?" His intense restlessness was much more familiar than the quiet weariness that seemed to have possessed him lately.

"Have to be yours, I'm afraid. I rode the wind."

Connor raised an eyebrow, and strode swiftly down the block to his car. "The traffic's not _that_ bad."

"Yeah, but he melted my tires. Bastard." He followed with a sigh.

"…Oh." That got him a sympathetic look as Connor opened the door for him. His own car was a well-kept antique too, even if it was a decade or so newer.

Balthazar got in and slid the Grimhold under the seat. "He's trashed my shop, too," He added glumly, thinking mostly of his birds. "But this is all repairable."

"If you do need money, you know…" Connor slid into the driver's seat and slipped his katana from his coat to the floor alongside the door in a smooth, practiced move.

"I should be okay for another fifty years or so. May have to get a real job again, after that." He smiled weakly. "Think you'll be hiring?"

"Heh. Well Rachel likes the idea of opening the shop again…" His smile was fleeting, because while Rachel wanted him in New York, John kept talking about 'home' in Marrakesh. It must have been hard thing to be torn between his children, and the strain had been showing. Connor pulled out and headed for Central Park at as fast a speed as he could without drawing the attention of police.

"…Don't worry about it right now." Balthazar watched his expression, guessing at his train of thought.

Connor nodded silently, picking shortcuts that were empty by night. His long familiarity with New York was showing, and it was a short ride, but he parked quietly on the far side of the street, among other cars. Balthazar wondered if he was trying to keep a low profile after hearing about what had happened to the sorcerer's own car.

Balthazar kept his voice low, even though the top of the car was up. "I'm going to leave the Grimhold and the ring here. If something does happen to me, just make sure they don't fall into the wrong hands." He wondered if Connor realized the level of trust he was placing in his hands.

The immortal nodded soberly, and rested a hand on his shoulder a moment, then slid out of the car while tucking the katana away in his coat.

Relieved and deeply grateful, Balthazar followed with the jar tucked under his arm. He structured a spell to hide himself as they walked.

Beside him, Connor stalked through the park like a cat, but didn't outpace him. Once they were well under the trees he murmured, "Just say where."

Balthazar moved quietly, stealthy and agile, but not as tensely predatory as his companion. He looked around, eyes half-closed, and beckoned the immortal down a hill to a small brushy clearing off the concrete paths.

"Make it look good." Connor prodded him in the chest lightly with one finger. "But try not to hit me with too much lightning? I only want to _fake_ being vulnerable." He left Balthazar to find a hiding place and moved out into the clearing, drawing his katana.

"Mm. Shout if you need anything." Retreating to the shadows under a tree, Balthazar glimpsed Connor undoing his coat and carefully drawing the sword down his own chest, and smearing the result on his jaw. At a distance, he didn't even see the immortal wince, but he hoped the cut was a shallow one. In the moonlight the blood was as dark as tar. While Connor prepared, the sorcerer focused on a spell that swirled and condensed fallen leaves into the shapes of a beheaded body on the ground.

Connor slid into a few swift sword moves, as if facing an invisible opponent, and tension hummed in the air. He looked meditative, but quiet electricity crackled along his blade and body, a little genuine quickening power called up for show.

As if in answer, bolts of energy danced in the air around him on Balthazar's command, not quite touching his skin, but lighting up the trees and blending with the immortal's power. The genuine quickening flickered brighter, but there was no way for the immortal to call up enough power to match the sorcerous light show. Connor stood in the midst of it, twitching, and as the lightning began to die down from its peak he collapsed in a sudden sprawl. Despite the ungainly pose on the ground, the katana had stayed in his hand.

There was a lull of a few minutes, the immortal's panting the only sound in the clearing, before a slight figure in a black coat emerged from the shadows around the clearing. The sickly-sweet scent reached even to where Balthazar hid, watching. The dark sorcerer approached warily and stood near Connor.

It would have been unrealistic if the immortal had just lain there, but Connor had already started moving. The way he was struggling up to hands and knees was weak and dazed, and he swayed in a clumsy crouch. It _looked_ clumsy, at least. The blade of the katana hissed like a snake in the leaves as he drew it up, sluggishly.

"I haven't seen one of _**you**_ in a while…" The voice was weirdly dualistic, as if it were twins speaking in unison. Abruptly, black tentacles lashed out from the ground around Connor, seeking to grab onto his limbs and throat.

Already looking up at the sound of the voice, Connor was on his feet in a flash, blade lashing at the shapes rising around him. They were fast and there were too many for him to take on at once, but while he was grabbed around the knees and yanked off his feet his attacker stood watching.

Balthazar's incantations were silent, because he dared not make a sound, but the oils from the jar flew through the air in a solid sphere and hit the Morganian dead-on in a liquid explosion. Some might have splashed on Connor, but for him it would merely be wet and cold. The dark sorcerer, on the other hand, howled in pain.

On the ground, Connor made a twist away from their opponent, but evidently saw his chance to get free. He drew his knees up and sliced the tentacle wrapped around them, then rolled to his feet again, battle-ready.

Smoke was rising around them, hissing black and stinging in the eyes, but the Morganian was turning to see where the direct attack had come from, and Balthazar wasn't about to waste time. He advanced from the shadows, light crackling between his palms as he readied an attack. Through the smoke he saw Connor circling quietly, which put him conveniently out of the way. Balthazar unleashed a series of plasma bolts, knocking the dark sorcerer off his feet. The body tumbled like an empty shell, dissolving into dust, and Balthazar hesitated to look around alertly. "Something's wrong. That was too easy."

"Decoy?" Connor rasped the single word quietly, and moved toward him to get back to back.

Balthazar shook his head, uncertain and scanning the shadows around the clearing. Unfortunately, the attack came from below their feet. Dozens of tentacles erupted from the ground, wrapping around both men and pulling them apart. Balthazar was flung high into the air, then caught and thrown against a tree so hard the crack was audible. He tasted blood, and lay limp on the ground watching the world through a dark haze.

Connor seemed to have been pushed off his feet and also flung into the air, but the tentacles that caught him again had simply sunk, drawing him down and slamming him against the ground. They seemed to have held fast around his limbs, pinning him there, but incredibly the immortal had managed not to lose his grip on the katana. He shifted to an underhand grip and the blade started slicing. His leverage in that position was poor, but the katana was sharp and he seemed to be making progress in freeing himself.

Stunned but coming back to his senses, Balthazar barely had the chance to move before tentacles were wrapping around his wrists and an ankle, trying to pull him in three different directions. He yelled in pain, but his ring blazed with light and electricity crackled down the tentacles. If they _could_ feel pain, he would make sure they _did_.

Cutting himself free, Connor came up on his feet once he was loose and bounded, deer-like, over a couple of newly emerging tentacles to reach the sorcerer. Balthazar was unable to pull his energy attack, and he was fairly certain that Connor was getting zapped even as his sword cut Balthazar's right arm free. Dimly, he saw a figure coalesce and creep close behind the immortal, but his warning came out as a wheeze. "C-Connor!" He hoped his gaze focused past the swordsman would be enough.

Connor whirled with the katana, moving on instinct, and sprang for the Morganian. The blade came down on the dark sorcerer's right arm, a repeat of the attack the immortal had used in the antique shop so long ago. Balthazar couldn't tell if the injury had any effect, though. As the katana moved for another cut on the return stroke, a massive tentacle emerged from behind Connor and wrapped around his torso, squeezing. Balthazar thought he heard the crack of ribs.

"Give me the Grimhold." The other sorcerer hissed, approaching. "I want Morgana."

One of the tentacles still holding Balthazar jerked, and he snarled in pain, but thanks to Connor his ring hand was now free. He raised it shakily, and there was an answering rumble in the earth, setting off car alarms just outside the park.

Connor gave a quiet wheeze, behind the Morganian. There were a few more cracks and the immortal went limp. The tentacle let him drop to the ground, and sank away.

The ground trembled violently and steam rose from the earth around them. The tentacles burst into flame, dissolving and burning away. Balthazar was free, but his own fire danced over him before it gave out. It was all he could do to breathe, after that.

The Morganian knelt and placed a hand over his face, occluding the dim moonlight. The sensation of having raw energy sucked out of him was unlike any other kind of pain Balthazar knew, but it was a matter of seconds before he was no longer aware of it, or anything at all.

Not quite dead, Connor heaved a gasp that sent ribs cracking back into place. Behind the Morganian, the immortal staggered up like a marionette with some strings broken, but he was on his feet, and the distance between them wasn't far. The dark sorcerer never even saw decapitation coming. The body slid into black ooze, this time.

Balthazar was no longer on fire, but neither was he breathing. As the Morganian fell away, his limbs twitched once spasmodically, as if from a shock.

Connor dropped to his knees beside his friend, and began CPR numbly.

After a moment Blake choked and wheezed awake, shaking all over. He mouthed Connor's name soundlessly a few times before he gave up trying, and just lay there catching his breath.

The immortal sank down on his back beside him, almost equally breathless. He patiently ran his fingers along his own ribcage, and when he found one healed misaligned, he jammed the hilt end of his sword against it with a gasp, reset the bone, and moved on to check the rest. Balthazar barely managed a wince, watching it in his peripheral vision. They both lay still for several minutes before Connor asked quietly, "Is it over?"

Balthazar had also been taking quiet inventory of his own injuries, and it took him a moment to respond. "…Y-yes." He could barely make out his own voice. "I need… wait." He couldn't move, but the energies around him shifted as he reached across town to cannibalize wards and protections around his own shop, his car, Nash Antiques, and a few other areas. He hated to strip the spells, but his need had never been greater. At length he twitched again, and found his voice a little more strongly, "That hurt a lot."

Connor rolled up, stiff but intact, and looked down at him. "Can you walk, or…?" They were roughly the same height, and while the immortal was probably stronger, he wasn't exactly muscle-bound. Balthazar only hoped the man's sheer stubbornness would be enough to carry him.

"I'm gonna need a doctor." He let his eyes drift closed. "My leg's broken in at least two places."

"Guess that's no. I can set bones… you sure you want a hospital, not your place?" His tone was steady and calm, almost businesslike, but Balthazar felt the immortal was giving him far too much credit as a magical healer. He began to pull the sorcerer into a sitting position with a gentle care that didn't match his tone, but even that made Balthazar gasp.

"Don't want… anyone going in there until I check it out. He could've left traps." He wheezed, and suspected his ribs were cracked, too, although probably not as badly as Connor's had been. "Fucking _**tentacles**_! I did not need that. But yeah, I… don't have anything that'll heal me before infection sets in." He also thought he might be bleeding internally, but he didn't want to scare the other man.

The immortal grimaced. "You know, the last time I was at the hospital, I had to escape from the Psych Ward. You'd better hope they don't recognize me." Experienced fingers were running down Balthazar's ribcage now, and he recognized the attempt at humor for what it was.

"I'll cover for you. Put you in an E.M.T. outfit, they'll never know the difference. Ow." His left side seemed to be intact, but the slightest touch along his right made him breathe through his teeth in pain.

"Good, because if they put me back, Napoleon will want my report on killing Wellington." Connor moved to his left side and lifted gently, cradling the sorcerer against his chest. Balthazar was starting a soft chuckle at the joke when he was moved, but it made him gasp, and he gratefully passed out from the pain before Connor even took the first step.

* * *

_Non-Highlander fans should watch the third HL movie if they ever want to get Connor's joke about the psych ward and Napoleon._


	18. Healing

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_A heads up to readers, this was originally going to be in two parts of roughly 20 chapters each, but my girlfriend thinks it should just be one almost 40 chapter long monster... I welcome opinions.  
_

**Sword and Sorcery **

18 Healing

Balthazar woke on a cart in the E.R. with a nurse removing his rings. He protested weakly, then insisted they be given to the man he'd come in with for safekeeping, because he was uncertain what name to call Connor by. Before the nurse had even left with them, his world sank into darkness again.

Connor paced the waiting room like a caged animal, alternately drinking the gunk provided as coffee, and fidgeting with the sorcerer's ring collection. A nurse delivered the news that Balthazar had internal injuries requiring minor surgery, a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, and a leg broken in three places. They had declared him stable, however, and in no danger of dying. After serious deliberation, he put in a call to let Rachel know the basics, and when she offered to stay as long as needed, he resumed his restless vigil. Everyone kept out of his way, and he kept out of theirs, but his brooding presence made the waiting room a tense place to be all night.

It was a few hours after dawn before he was allowed in to see the recovering sorcerer. Bloodlessly pale, eyes shadowed, Balthazar was sipping water cautiously and gave a weak wave. Somehow he was not surprised that Connor had waited to see him alive and whole for himself.

The immortal's coat was tightly done up over the self-inflicted cut across his front, and it looked like he had washed the blood off his face, but under the calm façade he looked tired and tense. "You'd better get healthy quick so you can stand up to Rachel's fussing." He smirked, while his eyes danced over Balthazar with obvious concern. "And powder blue isn't your color."

He glanced down at the pastel hospital smock. "I thought it brought out the shade of my eyes." His voice was weak, but he was in surprisingly good spirits. Balthazar wondered briefly if it was the painkillers, or just the joy of still being alive. "Do you remember when it was all leeches and poking with sharp instruments?" He eyed the I.V. drip ruefully.

Connor leaned against the wall, arms crossed, too restless to sit in the rickety chair provided. "Not really. We didn't have many instruments where I grew up. Mostly bloodletting and a lot of priests. And after…" Connor trailed off, but of course it was obvious he hadn't needed a doctor since his first death.

Balthazar nodded, and immediately wished he hadn't. The blood loss and painkillers had left him light-headed and a little nauseous. "_**I**_ remember. They say they'll release me the day after tomorrow, barring incident."

"Did they say when you'll be up for drinking again?"

"No," He smiled, "But I'd say about a week. Once they take me off the Percocet, all bets are off."

"Good. You owe me a scotch for hauling your ass here." The American slang always sounded strange mixed with Connor's muddled European accent.

"I owe you more than that. I'm not sure I could have won that one alone. Thank you."

Connor shook his head like a bull. "You _only_ owe me for that. You just had to be difficult and have broken ribs! Otherwise I could have just carried you like a sack of potatoes."

Balthazar laughed weakly, coughed, and sipped the water again. "I'll try not to break any ribs next time."

"_**Next**_ time? You want me to drag your skinny ass out of another fight?" Connor was frowning and smirking at the same time, but a nurse peeked in the doorway at the sound of his hoarse yell.

"Shut up, man, there are sick people trying to sleep around here." He couldn't help grinning.

Connor raised an eyebrow at the nurse, who took another glance at Balthazar, then left without comment. The immortal rolled his eyes. "Fine. Should I let an old man get some rest?"

"Better, yeah. One more thing though- that bastard pulled off most of my mana. I had to cannibalize all my wards so my immortality spell didn't turn on me. So the wards at your place are gone. Don't know if it matters now. I can put 'em back later."

Connor looked thoughtful a moment. "Don't worry about it right now. Do you want your rings back yet?"

"They'd just take 'em. Hang onto them until I'm discharged, if you don't mind?"

He nodded, face closing up as something flickered behind his eyes, and Connor rummaged carefully in his pocket. "They won't take this one." Very gently he set the simple gold band Balthazar normally wore on the bedside table. "Sleep well." As if trying to escape a reply, he left quickly.

Balthazar watched him go peacefully, slipping the ring back on the third finger of his left hand.

By the next afternoon, Rachel visited, with flowers and a 'get well' card made by John, and a lot of fussing. When he was released the following day, Connor was there to drive him home to the shop, where there was less damage than he'd feared, and no magical traps. There were no birds, either, of course, but Connor stayed with him an hour or two until he was settled in. He noticed his own car had new tires, but Connor didn't say a word about it.

After that the visits were daily, Rachel or Connor, a few times with John along. He was brought food, and company, and whatever help he might need around the place. Balthazar was quietly but deeply touched by all the attention. He was doomed to be on crutches for a while, but the rest of his ailments were quickly corrected by magical healing.

A week and a half after his release, he sent out a surprise for Connor in the form of a small origami crane appearing close by. It landed on the immortal's desk where he was working, tapped his arm, fluttered and unfolded to reveal it was made from the label off a bottle of scotch.

In under ten minutes Connor was through the door of the Arcana Cabana, dressed in what had probably been a suit that morning, but was now a shirt with the collar undone, slacks, incongruous sneakers, and the ratty long tan trenchcoat over it all. He knocked on the inside of the door as he entered. "You called?"

Balthazar was in a t-shirt and jeans, in large part because of the cast still on his leg. Seated on an old wooden box, he was repainting over some woodwork damaged in the fight, but the scotch and snacks were laid out neatly on a table nearby. He grinned at the disheveled immortal. "Did I? Guess I did. C'mon in."

Connor gave him a slow, deliberate look. "You stole my outfit. I'd loan you sneakers, but they'd be too big."

"I don't wear shoes with rubber soles." He glanced down at himself, bared arms showing a few old scars, and some splotches of white paint.

"They're quieter." Connor crouched slightly to look at the paint job, and seemed ready to offer his help. Up close he looked tired and strained, but some of his old spirit had definitely returned.

The painting was mostly done, and very neatly. "They don't allow current to flow from the ground. Sit down, help yourself."

"Hunh. I've worn shoes like that through a quickening, and I got zapped just the same." Connor shifted to a seat on a nearby stool. The way his coat moved, untied, betrayed that he was carrying his katana even for the short trip between their shops.

A delicate tendril of energy licked from his fingertip to zap Connor in the leg. "…Hey, it _does_ work!"

He jumped and yelped. "You bastard!" The cuff to Balthazar's head was swift, but not hard, and not entirely unexpected. "I didn't even get my drink yet!"

Balthazar laughed and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, don't wait on my account."

Connor leaned forward and poured for them both, rubbing his eyes absently with his free hand. He looked frayed around the edges. "I've been working on… things. Arrangements."

Balthazar closed up the paint can and dropped the brush in a cup of water, then wiped his hands on his jeans. Resettling closer stiffly, with the broken leg stretched out in front of him, he reached for the glass. "What kind of arrangements?"

"…Lots of them." Connor took a first gulp of scotch quickly. "This isn't home, to John. And I want… this year I'd like to light the candle at her grave." His eyes didn't meet Balthazar's, but the sorcerer knew it was not Brenda's grave he meant, and Heather's birthday was less than a month away.

Balthazar nodded soberly, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Scotland, then. Are you going to stay there?"

Connor shook his head. "It's not home anymore, no matter how much I want it to be." His gaze faded into the middle distance, face sober. "John wants Marrakesh, and… the museum acquisitions would be glad to have Alex, especially with me going part-time. I'll be back here for the opening of the antique store…"

It was an awkward plan, even if it did appease the scattered desires of his family. "Going to do some heavy commuting?" Balthazar sipped his drink, watching the other man.

Dragging his gaze back to the present, Connor gave a weary smile. "Guess so. I can afford it…"

"Well, don't wear yourself too thin… but it sounds like a reasonable solution. Any way I can help?"

"It's not much of a decision, is it?" He took another swallow and looked down with a wry smile. "Running back and forth family split across the ocean. Och, if I but had a swift ship…" His voice was very far away for a moment, then he struggled back to answer the question. "Not really? Just… understand if I'm not in the right place at the right time?"

Balthazar reached over to clasp his arm warmly. "Just call me when you can. Distance isn't always a matter of miles." He smiled. "Maybe I'll visit in Marrakesh once you're settled? I haven't been to Morocco in a couple centuries."

"You'd like it there." He looked suddenly relieved, as if he'd been afraid of his plans not meeting with Balthazar's approval. "The acquisitions department doesn't look much better than this place." He gestured with a sweep of his arm and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Hey, are you insulting my organizational skills?" Balthazar grabbed a peanut out of the dish on the table and threw it at him.

Connor caught it out of the air, and looked smug. "Yes."

"Mmh. As long as we understand each other." Balthazar's drinking was restrained, because he didn't want to risk falling over his own broken leg later, but he found himself tipsy all the same. Wanting to reassure Connor, he kept the conversation cheerful.

He watched the immortal polish off half again as much of the scotch, but reach only the same level of intoxication, grumbling that if he was drunk when Rachel brought John home he'd be in trouble. He seemed all too glad for the friendly banter, and the break. Balthazar suspected he'd been working himself to the bone setting up all the arrangements for his travels, and there was a definite sense of relief now that he'd broken the news.

That went double. Balthazar was glad to be able to hold onto his friend.


	19. Things to come

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_I'm kind of scared I'm going to get flamed over this chapter… it was hard to write and play, and it might be hard to read, but it's canon and it's important. That said, it also deserves this kind of attention, instead of the brief moment of screentime it got in HL: Endgame._

**Sword and Sorcery **

19 Things to come

Within a week of the friendly drinking session, Balthazar was invited to a formal dinner with them all, Alexandra included. It was a kind of farewell, and John talked about going home with obvious excitement, making Balthazar and Rachel promise to visit. The relationship with Alexandra was growing more confident, although she still didn't feel quite like part of the family.

A day or two later they were gone, although a postcard came from Connor, from Scotland. By the end of April, Connor returned alone for the opening of the antique store. He brought gifts, and letters for Balthazar and Rachel both, from John. The boy sounded glad to be back with his friends, but begged them to come visit.

The months the followed kept Connor in constant motion, and he often looked tired, but he also seemed quietly happy. When he was in New York, Balthazar was often invited to the loft for meals and visiting, and Connor firmly insisted the jetlag was worth being able to see him and Rachel. As June approached, John called to convince Balthazar that he should come to Marrakesh for his birthday. He wasn't completely surprised to find that Rachel and Connor were ready to go with them, although antique business was going to cut Connor's time there short. Deeply touched, Balthazar took up the offer and arranged a lengthy visit.

The locals spoke French and Arabic, and Rachel was left apologizing for her rusty French. She was functionally fluent, but the Arabic was foreign, and she looked to Balthazar and Connor for translations, and marveled over the unfamiliar environment. John greeted them all with enthusiasm, and gave them a tour of the museum-owned complex where they lived. With his friends he spoke mainly Arabic, and with his slightly dusky coloring and dark hair, he seemed to belong to the place.

Connor introduced them to a man named Jack Donovan, very British, and very at home as a friend and coworker with Connor, and loving uncle to John. There were subtle reminders, though, that he did not know their secrets. Balthazar wondered over how lonely it must have been, with Connor and John alone sharing the truth.

Still on crutches, but free of his cast, Balthazar was lively and playful while there, devoting plenty of time and attention to John, and cordial to Alex and Jack. It was still reassuring to have Rachel there, a piece of home, and an adoring friend.

Sliding between languages easily, Connor gave them a glimpse of his work. For all the barbaric habits and jokes on intelligence in their drinking sessions, he seemed to be capable and highly valued in analyzing the artifacts brought it. Alex seemed equally at home in the setting, in love with the work, quietly in love with Connor, and gradually growing very attached to John. As friendly as everyone was, the place felt subtly empty when Connor left them early to return to New York again, alone. By the time Balthazar and Rachel returned home, he was on his way in the other direction.

Into the start of Autumn, the strain of travel seemed to be growing noticeably. Connor's mood was more prone to brooding quiet again, with a frayed temper lurking beneath, although he'd grown better at concealing it. Rachel commented on it to Balthazar with a clear sense of resignation. The shop was keeping her busy and content, and Connor's mercurial temperament was just a fact of life, to her. Worried, Balthazar offered to help Connor with commuting magically, because he was unsure what else to do. Connor lightly put him off, pointing out it would raise questions. When the sorcerer tried to offer further solutions, Connor grumbled at him to leave it because he got his most peaceful sleep on airplanes, knowing it was one place no other immortal could reach him, once in the air. He was not unfriendly, still offering drinking sessions when he had the chance, and visiting often, but as the weather cooled an air of tension seemed to grow in him.

One November day, Connor let himself in unannounced and dropped onto the small portion of sofa that wasn't cluttered.

Working downstairs, Balthazar was a little surprised to see him. It had grown hard to keep track of his comings and goings. "Hello Connor. Everything all right?"

He grunted and rubbed at his stubbled face. "Duncan's coming to visit. I wasn't sure if you'd care or not, but I told him I'd let you know."

"I'd be happy to see Duncan again. Is there an occasion?" Crutches abandoned, he was using a cane now, and he eased himself down on a nearby chair.

Connor shrugged, frowning, weary and irritable, and a little jittery. The last was a new development, and an inexplicable one. On the other hand, there were shadows around his eyes and he seemed to drink a lot of coffee. "Just said he wanted to see me…" The answer seemed evasive.

Balthazar rubbed his chin, considering. "Okay. Listen, you can tell me to piss off if it's not my business- and you probably will- but you seem a little… off."

The immortal gave him a long, unreadable look, like a brooding vulture hunched on the narrow piece of couch. "Sounds like you're trying to save me the trouble of saying it." He retorted, then rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I'm fine. Just a few bad dreams."

"Has that happened before?" He watched Connor with tranquil, and rather gentle blue eyes.

Connor shifted uneasily under his gaze. "…Once or twice. All immortals are prone to paranoia and nightmares, you know…"

"I would imagine so. Don't disregard 'em, though. Someone may be telling you something."

A slow shudder ran through his lean frame, and Connor swallowed and whispered very hoarsely, "Don't say that."

The reaction was startling, and Balthazar came over and crouched awkwardly by him, one leg still weak. He placed a hand on Connor's knee. "Talk to me."

Connor shut his eyes and shook his head, but there was intense fear in his face.

It was a little shocking to see him so disturbed. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you Connor, but there's nothing I _**can**_ do if you can't tell me what you need."

The immortal took a few slow breaths, pulling the walls of psychological defense back up, at least as much as he seemed able. "There's nothing you _can_ do. There's nothing _**I**_ can do. Just… pray they're only nightmares."

Balthazar frowned at the floor, feeling defeated. When Connor didn't want to talk, there was nothing in the world that could make him. "All right. Look, can I at least offer you coffee before you go?"

"Coffee… would be good." Connor glanced at his watch, then his hand rose to rub at the back of his neck and shoulder. He looked shaken, and grateful for the chance to pull himself together.

Balthazar levered himself up again and got him some coffee with milk, solemnly. "I'm here… if you need anything."

"Just because you dream something doesn't mean it has to…" He shook his head a little, and took just a moment to notice the cup of coffee being offered. "Thanks."

"I was never clairvoyant. That was my master's department."

"…And I'm not a sorcerer at all." Connor smiled weakly, but his eyes were haunted.

Not sure what else to do, Balthazar tried talking about the shop, John's studies, and whatever other small talk he could think of. While he did most of the talking, Connor seemed to pull himself back together, solemn, but composed. It was worrying that such a quiet implication had made him come so abruptly undone, and he still looked slightly edgy when he left, rolling his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck. Duncan was due to arrive the next morning, and Balthazar wondered what state Connor would be in to greet him.

It was around nine the next morning, while Balthazar was getting dressed, that an explosion rocked the neighborhood.

The sorcerer finished dressing and flung on a jacket, hurrying outside to see what was happening, his entire body vibrating from the shock. From just a few blocks away, very much the vicinity of Nash Antiques, a column of smoke and dust was rising. Sirens were already beginning to wail from a distance, and people on the street had stopped to stare or drift that way.

Balthazar started to limp up the block, then changed his mind and retreated to make a series of cautious teleports, landing in an alley across the street from the store. A crowd had gathered already, and there seemed to be a commotion in the middle of the street in front of the smoking, burning ruin of the antique shop. In the time it had taken Balthazar to reach the scene, a handful of police had arrived, and he could hear the fire trucks and ambulances still on their way.

At the center of the crowds, directly in front of the store, Connor had gone mad as an animal. His raspy voice didn't carry over the crowd and sirens, but it was taking three policemen and Duncan to keep him from running into the building.

Balthazar sized up the situation calmly, and limped out of the alley as fast as he could, making for Connor. He got halfway across the street before he paused, staring at the building, as what was happening truly sank in.

A policeman staggered back with a bloody nose, as the first of the fire trucks pulled up. The building shuddered as something crashed inside, possibly part of a floor collapsing. It had a galvanizing effect, and Balthazar moved swiftly again, teleporting from his spot on the street and trying to catch Connor's eye as he vanished into the building. He already knew it was futile, but his magic could protect him from the fire, and it was all he could think to do. A moment later the flames died down at his command.

A large portion of the second floor was gone, and it didn't look like there would be much left to salvage. Hoses were being turned on, water shooting through the missing windows, and only Balthazar's magical shield kept him from getting soaked. Ignoring the initial efforts of the fire fighters, he searched magically until he found Rachel buried in the rubble. For a long moment he just stood in the smoking husk of the building, then he teleported quietly back out to the alley nearest Connor and Duncan. His expression was grim enough to make one of the policemen draw back as he emerged, leaning on his cane.

Unable to see Balthazar's exit from the building, Connor was still straining against the other men, eyes wild, but at least he'd stopped throwing punches. Duncan, arms around his kinsman's chest, caught sight of Balthazar over Connor's shoulder. For an instant his expression was one desperate question, but he was quick to interpret the sorcerer's face, and closed his eyes in silent grief.

The officer in charge yelled at the knot of men, "Get him _**back**_ damnit! And calm him down for questioning!" It was not the NYPD at its finest.

Balthazr walked up to the group, his voice steady. "You don't need to question him."

The head officer's expression shifted into a dazed look, and the other men's expressions followed as he passed by them to place his hand gently on the back of Connor's neck.

Connor collapsed abruptly under the touch, and only Duncan's grip kept him from cracking his knees on the pavement. He buried his face in Duncan's shoulder and heaved a quiet sob. "Rachel…"

Duncan looked surprised by the sudden drop, trying to ease him down, and gave Balthazar a look of anguish and worry.

Balthazar was as startled as Duncan was, and drew back, his face a blank mask. After a moment he kneeled stiffly next to them and said almost inaudibly, "She didn't suffer." From what he'd seen, the shockwave would have been powerful enough to break her neck.

Connor just shook, arms limp at his sides, but Duncan extended one arm gently around Balthazar's shoulders without dislodging Connor. The knelt in a clump, while the police moved around them and fire fighters assessed the building damage, impressed the fire itself had gone out so quickly. After a long moment Duncan said in a quiet, choked voice, "We should get him off the street…"

"…My place?" Balthazar's voice was a monotone, expression blank. On some level, he'd simply shut down inside, almost as badly as Connor.

"It's close, isn't it?" Duncan had never been there, but he made an effort to pull Connor up.

"Hang on, I'll get us there." Balthazar gave no more than a second's warning before teleporting them, landing them on the floor by the couch.

Duncan looked startled, but recovered to pull Connor up to the couch. It was a lucky thing Duncan was strong enough, because Connor was limp in his arms, shaking still, face streaked with tears and dust from the explosion. He must have been close.

Balthazar reached out tentatively to touch Connor's forehead, trying to open his mind. For the most part he sensed shock, and the explosion repeating itself endlessly, seen from across the street. From further up the block, a moment or two before, Connor had seen Rachel going in, and the knowledge compounded the horror. Somewhere behind it all swam a sense of déjà vu and utter helplessness, and a sensation that to Balthazar read as an intense ache in his neck and shoulders.

Duncan leaned over his kinsman, touching his shoulder, his arm, the side of his head. He knelt to put them forehead to forehead. "Connor… _Connor_…! Conchobar!"

The ancient form of his name made the vision Balthazar read in his mind swim a little, and his eyes slowly began to refocus.

Balthazar contributed by making a soft, soothing sound and relaxing his neck and shoulders, easing the pain away. "Ssh… come back… please come back to us."

Duncan started to cry, but he didn't seem to notice the tears, lightly rubbing one of Connor's shoulders. He murmured softly in Gaelic, "We're here. You're not alone."

Gradually Connor's gaze returned and he blinked, tears still flowing, but the trembling was easing off.

Balthazar hadn't cracked yet, but he felt utterly desolate. He met Connor's gaze, but drew a complete blank on what else to say.

When Connor's gaze met his, there was a sudden flash to the memory of the day before, and the discussion of visions and bad dreams. Connor curled up with his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.

Duncan rubbed his back a long moment, then moved to help Balthazar up onto the couch, too, likely out of concern for the limp. It took Balthazar a moment to even notice what Duncan was doing. Once he did, he patted the other man's arm and levered himself painfully onto the sofa next to Connor. There he sat and stared wordlessly into space for several minutes. Eventually his eyes closed, and the tears started to flow.

Duncan was trying to comfort them both, but crying himself. He had watched Rachel grow up.

For well over an hour they sat there, Connor sobbing quietly until he slowly sank into unconsciousness, months of exhaustion stacked on top of grief. Duncan had to shift him carefully to keep him from toppling headfirst off the couch.

Balthazar had stopped crying by the time Connor passed out, but he sat withdrawn, and feeling terribly old. He roused himself to help Duncan adjust Connor, and watched him a moment before getting up and hobbling to the counter. "They'll be trying to get in touch with him, let him know…"

"…His phone was in there." Duncan rubbed his face, grieving, but obviously trying to be strong. "He'll… be okay, in time. He's stronger than anyone I've ever known." He looked down at Connor, curled in the fetal position, face shadowed and frame light, physically nineteen years old. Duncan looked like a handsome, muscular god beside Connor, and he seemed to know it. There was doubt in his face.

"You think?" Balthazar's voice was soft. "I'm not sure he ever recovered from Brenda…"

"…Or Heather…" Duncan sighed, then repeated as if to convince himself, "He's strong. He'll be okay." He stood, and rested a gentle hand on Balthazar's shoulder. "Will _you_ be okay?"

Balthazar's mind was flashing back on everyone he'd ever seen die, but his voice was steady, and he watched Connor sleep. "She didn't suffer. But I want to know who did this, and why."

Duncan's free hand clenched in a fist, and his face clouded with anger, but he nodded. "We'll find them. But not…" He forced a sigh, obviously wanting to lash out. "Not in vengeance. Just so they won't hurt anyone else." He stood there for a long moment, the private battle against anger warring across his face.

"Vengeance is pointless," Balthazar agreed, "But when you see a mad dog, you put it down." He took a deep breath. "I know you loved her, too. I'm sorry. I should have- I- I need a drink." Balthazar struggled up to his feet.

That swept away the anger, and tears began to flow slowly from Duncan's eyes again. "She was so… You should've seen her, as a little girl…" Duncan moved away to lean on the counter a moment. "Tell me where it is, and sit down."

"…Cabinet in the back, under the Tibetan mandala." He sank into a chair and let his cane drop, clattering softly on the floor.

Duncan went, and came back with three glasses just in case. He sat cross-legged on the floor halfway between their seats, in reach of them both. "We'll… know he's all right if he gets mad at us for drinking without him, when he wakes up."

"…I wouldn't count on that so soon." Balthazar said softly. After a gulp of liquor, he added miserably, "I had wards up. I had to take them down when I was injured. If I had put them back sooner…"

"No." Duncan sounded grieved, and reached to put a firm hand on the knee of the uninjured leg. "Don't… we _all_ know better than that. Things happen, and no matter what we'd like to think, all the what if's…" His eyes were misty again and he put down his drink to rub his face.

"I just hope _**he**_ doesn't blame me." Balthazar noticed Duncan's distress, and was reminded of the letter where Connor had told of his loss of Tessa. He took a shaky breath, pulling himself together, and leaned forward to put a hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't have to be the strong one…"

Duncan smiled weakly, pain in his eyes. "He's been the strong one for me, plenty of times. I'm just trying to remember all the things he's told me when I … lost someone."

Balthazar nodded, falling silent. He sipped his drink slowly, mechanically, and stared at the floor.

Duncan retrieved his glass and drank in silence, too, but when the glass was empty he made no move to refill it.

Connor twitched and moaned in his sleep.

The sound drew his attention, and after a moment of thought, Balthazar began to tell Duncan about the visit from the day before, and Connor's worry of prophetic nightmares.

Slowly, pained and guilty, Duncan explained little signs over the phone and through letters that had worried him into insisting on a visit. He explained they had argued on the street not five minutes before the explosion, and Connor had gone on ahead without him. Only the sound of the bomb had sent him running the few blocks after. He admitted, heavy with remorse, that he shouldn't have started to question Connor about emotional matters in public, knowing the kind of walls he put up.

Connor stilled again as both their voices faded, and slept calmly for a short while, before another nightmare sent him awake and wild-eyed, rolling to his feet. They both kept out of his way for the few seconds it took him to remember, and then his face calmed into a hard, weary look. Voice hoarse and numb, he declared that he needed to go, to take care of the details.

When Duncan offered gently to do it for him, it was like unleashing lightning.

"_**She's My Daughter.**_" Connor looked ready to kill for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode out of the shop abruptly.

Balthazar didn't even have the chance to get a word in, stunned.

Duncan hesitated, ran out the door after his old mentor, and was back a few minutes later. Grimly he allowed that Connor might not be all right, but was together enough to distract himself with the practical details. He stayed a while, trying to comfort Balthazar.

The sorcerer was quiet, polite and gentle, but inconsolable. Remembering Connor's shut down after Brenda, he was certain his best friend would go away again, and this time he'd never hear from him again. He'd lost two friends, this day.


	20. No goodbye

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_It… um… gets worse before it gets better? This was originally going to be the last chapter before the break into a second story, but I guess I'll just go ahead and keep adding chapters here instead._

_The meat of the latter half of this chapter is owed entirely to my girlfriend, who can be found on here under Bridgie (old account), and wugglyump. _

**Sword and Sorcery **

20. No goodbye

Duncan called, from the hotel where he'd made arrangements for both himself and Connor, to give Balthazar the details for the funeral. It would be swift, and small. There was a police investigation, still open, but there was little news to give. He described Connor's state as 'functional', and seemed concerned over Balthazar, too. He appreciated the thought, at least. Sending lilies and white roses, in advance, the sorcerer came to the funeral dressed less conspicuously than usual, all in black.

He was met at the cemetery by Duncan, impeccably dressed, but tense. He gave Balthazar a wordless hug, but there was a definite sense that he was holding something back.

Behind him Connor stood, clean and shaved and all in black, but his face was pale and haunted, and instead of being wooden as Balthazar expected, he was shaky. He moved past his kinsman to grip at Balthazar like a drowning man, voice hoarse. "I have… to go back, after. Jack's dead…"

Duncan cringed, hearing it put out there so bluntly. Probably he'd intended to break the news more gently.

"…How?" Balthazar placed a hand over Connor's, clutched at his sleeve.

"It… was an accident…" He shook his head, disbelieving. "A big crate in the deliveries…"

Putting his arms around his kinsman, Duncan gently guided him to the funeral as if he were a crippled old man. Balthazar let them go, following at his own slow pace. He knew anything he had to say would only confirm Connor's worst fears. The sorcerer knew better than to believe much in coincidence.

Connor was quiet and still through the funeral, but the look in his eyes was wild and desperate. Duncan never let go of him once, as if afraid he might collapse at any moment, but when it was over there were more hugs. Connor clung to Balthazar again and looked straight into his eyes, as if he could drive the message into Balthazar's skull with the sheer force of his gaze. "Protect yourself. Every way you can." He let go of him gently, deliberately.

Duncan gave consoling words, and promised to keep the sorcerer updated.

Balthazar could only nod in response, feeling helpless to stop the train wreck unfolding in front of him. Was this the premonition Connor's dreams had told? All he said to Duncan was, "If there's anything I can do…" He felt useless.

The younger immortal clasped his arm and nodded, but he was focused mostly on dealing with Connor, who seemed barely able to take care of himself.

Before Balthazar even reached home from the funeral, he sensed someone prowling the edges of his shop wards, but by the time he got there nothing seemed amiss.

The call from Duncan came a few days later, and started carefully. "How… is everything there?" He was supposed to be back in Paris, which was still closer to Marrakesh.

"I've seen strangers, but no one's really… done anything." He answered quietly, heavy with a sense of foreboding.

"I… can come there if you're worried at all." Duncan sighed, and Balthazar could almost hear him bracing himself. Where Connor was tactless, Duncan sometimes tried too hard. "I… need you to keep an eye out, either way, for Connor…"

"You're a good man, but I've had stalkers before." He was quiet a moment, then gently urged, "You can tell me what happened, Duncan. They're gone, aren't they?" First Rachel, now John and Alex.

There was a pause, and a slow breath. He never said yes, but his next words were a confirmation anyway. "He was expecting it, though. He's being hunted. Sometimes, some immortals will threaten friends or family… or even kill, to unnerve or goad the other immortal for a fight, but I've _**never**_ seen it on this scale. Now he's… missing. Probably gone to ground, looking for his own angle. I'd _know_ if he were… gone." There was doubt and worry in Duncan's voice, all the same.

Balthazar was silent a long moment, then asked hoarsely, "Is there… I guess the funerals have already been held? I… will keep my eyes… open for him."

"…I'm sorry, I'm still trying to find out the details. I'll call you back as soon as I can…" He asked for a few more assurances of Balthazar's safety, and called back hours later with details, but had to grimly let him know it was already over.

He didn't open the shop the next day. Instead he wandered through the park where he and Connor and John had played only a few months ago, thinking of the vivacious little boy who would never grow to be a man. Haunted, he spent the night awake and staring at the ceiling. Somewhere, he thought, his friend was running from his own catastrophic losses, in pain, and he was helpless.

After two in the morning, he felt another probing at his wards and got up cautiously. It was not the attack of a trained sorcerer, more like a tentative testing of the waters from someone without his level of power and expertise. He knew there were a few Morganians around still, but his reputation tended to keep them away. This was something different.

He stalked down to the shop and peered through the front window. There was a shadowy figure across the street, and he thought he saw the jut of a sword in a scabbard at the hip. It wasn't Connor; too broad of shoulder. Frowning, he stepped outside, but as soon as he saw him, the stranger vanished, running off down an alley. His leg still weak, Balthazar was in no position to follow.

He waited for further harassment in the days to come, but it never happened. Whoever had tried to target him, his defenses had apparently changed their mind. He wondered if it was the same person who had set the bomb at Nash Antiques. Wondered if he could have saved Rachel's life by replacing the wards he had cannibalized sooner. Tried to work out in his mind what he could have done to protect John and Alex, and couldn't come up with anything.

The shop remained closed for around two weeks. He called Duncan once, found there was no news from Connor, and sank into the calm, quiet depression that had characterized much of his life. There was no one to demand anything of him, and no one to rely on, and he convinced himself this suited him.

The next few years seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace.

When the little, dark-haired boy appeared in his shop looking for a lost scrap of paper, he thought of John. About the same age, about the same height. He got out Merlin's ring, expecting little to come of it, and felt his heart stop when the dragon moved to curl around the small finger. At last. At _last_ his task was almost done.

Unlike John, however, Dave appeared to be unable to keep his hands to himself where the artifacts were concerned. Balthazar left the room briefly and returned to find the Grimhold half-open on the floor.

The fight with Horvath was brief, but intense, and the end result found them both trapped in the darkness of a Chinese urn. The boy, at least, was free and presumably safe. Balthazar guarded his mind carefully, afraid to let his former friend realize the enormity of the events that had just been set in motion. Amidst the smells of incense and dust, the consciousnesses of the two men pushed at one another, testing strengths and flashpoints, neither giving in. Boredom combined with tension pushed warmer thoughts to the back of Balthazar's mind. It wasn't a hell, precisely, being locked in place with Horvath, more a kind of gloomy Purgatory.

The events after he broke free were dizzying. The training of the Prime Merlinian, the battle against Morgana, the release of Veronica. After centuries of near-stasis, his world changed in days. After the battle in Battery Park, he set about rebuilding his life, now with a partner and a student by his side. There had been some dangerous artifacts in his store, before it had reverted to city ownership and his stock had been sold or given away, and he felt it incumbent upon himself to track them down.

He wasn't quite prepared for where he would find them.


	21. Picking up the pieces

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_My thanks to all the readers who stuck through the last few chapters. Now we're free of the movies for all characters (with just enough adaptation to have Connor live), and into the open territory that comes when all the canon has ended. Also, apologies to HL fans for the 'Endgame in a nutshell' exposition._

**Sword and Sorcery **

21. Picking up the pieces

**New York, Autumn 2010**

The voice on the other end of the phone was wonderfully familiar, and he could hear a smile in it. "Duncan MacLeod." He added in a whisper, possibly with a hand over the mouthpiece, "Amanda! Get off…"

"Duncan? It's Blake. Balthazar Blake."

He sobered quickly. "Blake? Where are you? What happened?"

There was a woman's voice, very quiet in the background, "Old friend?"

"I'm in New York. Uh…" Balthazar gave an embarrassed cough. "There was a magical accident. I was stuck in an urn for a decade."

That gave Duncan pause. "You… what…? It's… he's an old friend of Connor's…" The last was a murmur.

"I'll be on deck if you need me." The woman's voice faded as she spoke.

"The second Emperor of the Han Dynasty had this wife-" He started, but this time he was interrupted by someone at his own end.

"Dude, It's not going to make any sense no matter how you explain it." His new apprentice, also the Prime Merlinian, was sitting close by with his feet on the table.

"I'll take your word for it." There was the hint of a smile again, and he was sure Duncan had heard Dave. "But you're okay?"

"I… I'm good." Balthazar was still surprised to be able to honestly say that. "It's over. Morgana's been destroyed."

"That's…" He got the impression Duncan was ransacking his own memory. "You're still alive, so that _**must**_ be good."

Balthazar laughed softly. "It's one less opportunity for the world to be destroyed. Listen, I tracked down some of my things. They're in the storage for Nash Antiques. I wasn't sure if you did it, or if Connor…?"

There was a long pause, during which his heart thumped with anxiety. "I didn't do it. I didn't even know." Duncan's voice was quiet, and apologetic. "It's all in my name, but I… haven't looked. I was just holding onto it…"

He was quiet, thinking this over. "…You haven't heard from him, then."

"He's missing, but it's _again_, not _still_. Have… you got time?"

"Absolutely. David, go check on Veronica? I'm not sure she's got the hang of the stove yet…"

"Ooh. Right." Dave probably knew it was just an excuse to send him away, but he left the room obligingly.

"The last time I saw him was about five years ago…" Duncan started slowly, explaining about a group of people known as the Watchers, who supposedly kept track of immortals, observing and recording, and never interfering. Except when they broke their own rules and _did_. There had been a place called Sanctuary, he said, where some Watchers had kept a handful of immortals drugged into stasis, so there would always be some alive and unable to fight each other. That was where Connor had disappeared to, just after the deaths of his family. Even Duncan didn't seem sure if he'd gone voluntarily or not.

Then he haltingly explained about a massacre there, with Connor the only survivor. He explained about a man named Jacob Kell. He had been a kinsman to Connor, far back in his childhood, and in some kind of dispute Connor had killed him. It didn't sound as though, at the time, Connor realized he was merely giving another immortal his first death. After learning the rules of what he was, Jacob Kell had set out to find Connor, and to make him pay. He'd been responsible for the deaths of Rachel, Jack, John and Alex. It was probable he'd had a hand in the death of Brenda. He had killed everyone in the Sanctuary but Connor, and threatened to come after Duncan next.

Duncan's tone grew quiet, and a little broken, as he told Balthazar how in a desperate, suicidal move Connor had tried to force Duncan to take his head, hoping it would give him the power to defeat Kell. Only a last-second punch had saved them both from worse tragedy.

"I… shouldn't have left him up there, unconscious, but I… by the next morning Kell was dead. I don't even know how he managed it. Then he just vanished again. He's even dodging his own Watcher, Joe says, but he turns up in other reports, taking heads." Duncan fell silent, needing a moment to recover from the telling of the story.

Balthazar breathed out a curse. "He was always so… He must be in a lot of pain." He was silent a moment, considering. "I'll try to find him."

"Blake, be careful. I love Connor more than life itself, but I also know him. He got thrown into the wilderness young, and part of him has been an animal ever since. Right now, he's a wounded bear."

"I… I'll watch myself. Is there anything I should tell him for you?"

Duncan's response was swift, but heartfelt. "I love him. He'll always by me true brother. Let me know right away if you do find him? I've been looking… I even went to Heather's grave on her birthday after the winter when Kell was killed, but he wasn't there…"

Balthazar was touched, and it took him a moment before he was able to speak. "I'll let him know, if he'll listen. In the meantime, you can reach me at this number if you need anything. It's my student's place, I'm still getting things in order."

"I'm mostly here in Paris, but... Let me give you Joe's cell? He won't thank me for it, but this is important, and he knows how to find me almost anywhere."

"Joe is… your Watcher? All right…" He was a little perplexed, but didn't bother to question it.

"My Watcher, and a good friend. His people don't like it at all, believe me. Got paper and pen?"

"…Yes, go ahead." He took down the number, but his thoughts were elsewhere. "Thanks Duncan. I'll keep you informed. Tell 'Amanda' I apologize for interrupting." He couldn't help smiling at this last.

Duncan laughed softly. "She's older than I am. She can handle the wait. Keep in touch? It's a relief to hear from you again."

After a friendly goodbye, Balthazar hung up and wandered into the kitchen to help with cooking.

It took a while to get resettled, and the sheer paperwork involved in reclaiming his funds was time-consuming. He bought a house in Queens for himself and Veronica, in a place called Forest Hills, and restocked their wardrobes. Getting Veronica acquainted with the modern world was an involved process, no matter how willingly she tried to learn, and before Balthazar was ready for it, Christmas was upon them. He was grateful for Veronica's help in keeping the holiday a low-key affair, and at last, after it all, he was free to do a few rituals.

He allowed Dave to help, and they spent several sessions in a ritual circle with detailed maps, magically scouring the world. Their attempts were frustrated, almost as if Connor was gone, or able to resist being found by sheer force of will. At last, unexpectedly, there was a tiny crackle like miniature lightning across a map of the U.S. It was brief, but it left a tiny hole burned in the paper, just outside Chicago.

Balthazar packed a bag quickly and teleported, leaving Veronica in charge of Dave's education, and him in charge of hers. He wasn't entirely surprised to land in an alley next to a headless corpse half shoved under a dumpster. Connor had been there, and recently. The electric tang of a recent Quickening still hung in the air. The energy made for a warm trail and he followed it on foot, a few blocks, until he reached a point where it grew thinner. Through the lingering ritual he could feel the thread of power, stretching out. Connor had gotten in a car, and was still on the move.

It was late in the evening already, but he found a cab, and followed through the night by vehicle, teleportation, and at last on foot again. Connor didn't stop moving until near dawn, and in the end Balthazar was left walking up to a church somewhere in Iowa. At the edge of the parking lot, near the small associated cemetery, a rusting junker of a car sat parked alone. Cautious, and seeing no driver, the sorcerer scouted ahead and sent a dove to peer in the window. Through its eyes he made out a huddled form across the back seat, almost completely covered by a blanket. He guessed Connor probably needed the sleep, and he was worn out himself from the night-long chase. He retreated to the church steps and settled there, waiting for the immortal to wake on his own.

It was a couple of hours before the battered vehicle creaked softly, and one of the back doors opened. Connor rolled up to sit sideways, feet on the running board, and his back to the church. His hair looked a little longer than Balthazar remembered it, sticking out every which way. He rubbed his face, and ran his hands through the unmanageable hair, all the gestures of a man still trying to wake up.

The dove landed on the edge of the door and peered down at him, fluffing its wings. Connor looked up at it slowly. Vision through the bird's eyes was limited, but he could make out Connor's voice, cracked and very hoarse, as if he wasn't used to speaking much anymore. He sounded dazed. "Do you come with the church? I'm not a man of peace. You don't want to hang around me."

It cooed softly, then took flight off over the car, going to land in Balthazar's outstretched hand. He watched carefully for Connor's reaction, unsure how delicate the situation might be.

Connor's head tilted and swiveled to watch it fly, and he half-rose to his feet, pulling himself up with a hand on the door. The instant he caught a figure in his peripheral vision, all the defenses snapped up. His shoulders tightened, and by the time he actually turned to see who it was, his expression was very guarded. At a distance he looked haggard and unkempt, and against every rule of what he was, _older_. Connor regarded Balthazar with a hollow gaze for a long moment, then simply said, "No." and resumed his seat.

The sorcerer walked toward him slowly, letting the dove go free. "…Can you elaborate on that?"

"Go away." He rubbed his face with both hands, speaking barely above a whisper. "No more hallucinations. I'm tired."

"I'm not a hallucination, Connor." He kept his voice low and gentle, worried. "It's me, it's Balthazar."

"You're gone." His voice dropped even softer, hard to hear with his face still buried in his hands. "Everyone's gone but Duncan, and he…" Connor shivered, even though he was wearing a long wool coat. The thing looked threadbare, patched. "You're not real." He seemed to be trying to banish Balthazar by sheer force of will.

It was heartbreaking to see him so badly broken, and Balthazar stopped just out of reach, half crouching. "I didn't die, Connor." He winced inwardly at what was, in a sense, a lie. He hadn't been dead when Connor thought he was, and that was the important part. "There was a magical accident. Horvath got released from the Grimhold and we fought. We ended up trapped in that damned Chinese urn for the past ten years."

It was a moment before Connor reacted, but when he looked up his expression was still wary, unwilling to trust his eyes. Up closer the change was alarming. What pure time could not do, grief had. There were lines etched into his face that had never been there before, and Balthazar thought he saw a hint of grey. He had clearly lost weight, and didn't sleep much. "That's… why… mgnh…" He frowned, searching Balthazar's face almost fearfully.

"C'mon, you wouldn't hallucinate a story that crazy." His gaze was gentle and earnest, but he feared he was grasping at straws.

He gave a weak cough of laughter. "Crazy is as crazy does…" Connor shook his head and stood, stepping away. "And now I'm talking to myself in the middle of an empty parking lot!"

"All right, you asked for it." Connor had always been such a tactile person, Balthazar hoped if he gave him something he could feel, it would be convincing. He zapped him in the shoulder with a very small bolt of electricity.

Startled, Connor faltered mid-step with a gasp and grabbed at his own shoulder. He turned back to look at Balthazar with very wide eyes, but there was dawning belief in them, now. There was also shock.

"Easy…" He stood, a little unsure of what kind of reaction he would get now. It might not have been the best method. "I'm… sorry I disappeared. I really am."

Connor swayed very slightly in place. "You… were gone. They were trying to sell your things…"

"I was trapped. The property reverted back to the city. You… thank you for saving some of it."

"I bought everything that was left…" Connor hadn't moved, still staring as if afraid Balthazar would vanish if he blinked.

"Did you come looking for me, or was it just coincidence?" He tried a faint, sad smile.

Connor's eyes shifted, just a little, as if he were trying to look away and couldn't. His voice was soft, and there was a flicker of hurt in his expression. "Of _course_ I came looking for you."

"I wasn't sure… why you vanished. If you needed time alone, or if it was something else. I'm sorry." He offered an arm clasp, tentative.

His gaze dropped finally, just as it began to swim with pain and guilt, and then an arm shot out and caught Balthazar by the back of the neck. Connor was gaunt and weary, but the strength of his grip was still powerful. Moving gently, he stepped forward and leaned his forehead against Balthazar's, an intimate gesture he'd only ever seen Connor do with Duncan and Rachel.

Balthazar placed his hands lightly on Connor's shoulders and let him lean, eyes a little teary. "I'm glad to see you, Connor." He said softly, feeling it needed to be heard.

The gesture melted slowly into a hug, and Connor shook a little in his arms, but was careful not to lean on him. Although not as prone to rib-cracking grips as Connor once was, Balthazar hugged back tightly. By contrast, Connor's hug was gentle, either tired or restrained, or a little of both, but he held it for a very long moment.

When he did draw back, Connor all but stumbled the short distance to the car and sat again heavily. His voice was a quiet croak. "I need coffee…"

"Do you want me to go get you something?" Balthazar watched closely, concerned.

Connor looked up at him, drained and a little wary, but not as closed-off as Balthazar expected. "What's wrong with just driving to a diner?"

"That works, too, if you're up for it." He smiled warmly, trying to be reassuring.

Both hands ran through Connor's hair, making it stick out all the worse, then he held them out to glance at them a moment. They were trembling slightly, and he dropped his arms to his knees. "I'm all right for driving. But you… have to tell me how _you_ are…" He glanced up again.

Balthazar looked away. "A lot's happened. Horvath is still out there, but Morgana's gone for good. It's over."

Connor sucked in his breath very slowly, gaze drifting to the rings on Balthazar's left hand. "…And?" It was almost a whisper.

He rubbed his eyes, smiling. "She's back in Queens, waiting for me. It… won't be easy. She has nightmares, doesn't know how anything modern works… but she's free." His eyes were teary, a mix of joy, relief, and concern for Connor in his face.

The immortal darted a glance like lightning at his expression, gone before Balthazar could quite read what was there. He let his breath out slowly, with a very small smile. "I'm glad for you both." There was no doubting that he meant it, but there was a lot left unsaid, and the way he was avoiding the sorcerer's gaze made it clear he was trying to hide the grief over his own losses.

Balthazar knew there had to be a lot of jealousy there, but he wasn't sure how to approach it. "She'd… like to meet you some time. But I understand if it's too hard to take."

Connor shrugged without looking up again. "You did."

"Let's have breakfast," He suggested gently, "And we'll talk. I need coffee, too."

"…Breakfast." He nodded, staring into space a moment, then shoved himself into motion. After a glance around he pulled the katana out from under the blanket still across the back seat, and slid it on the floor beside the driver's seat door. "Get in and keep your eyes open, I don't know where I'm going."

"Yessir." Balthazar slid into the passenger's seat, still feeling uncertainty over the tender but awkward reunion.


	22. Breakfast bonding

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_I don't promise happy fluffy through to the end, but the worst of the trauma is over._

**Sword and Sorcery **

22. Breakfast bonding

Connor was silent as he drove, ignoring Balthazar and retreating somewhere inside himself, but they found a Waffle House before they went a dozen blocks. After they parked, the immortal glanced at the hidden sword on the floor of the car, but he got out and left it there.

Balthazar got them an isolated table in the back, where they were less likely to be overheard, and they both ordered coffee before even glancing at the menu. The waitress gone, they sat, and Balthazar studied his old friend for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to bring up his talk with Duncan yet.

The immortal was gazing blankly at the menu, but his eyes looked unseeing. "How… long have you been back?" It was a cautious, quiet question.

"Less than two months." He said, guiltily. "I would have come looking sooner, but there was the fight with Morgana, and then getting my bank accounts back and getting a place to stay…"

He raised an eyebrow, and fidgeted with one corner of the menu. "You don't have your life in order yet, then… you could have waited."

"I was afraid you might think I was dead."

Connor was still staring at the menu, but his face twitched with the effort of restrained emotion. His tone was carefully held in check, flat. "Of course I thought you were dead."

"Well, there you are, then." Balthazar rested his chin in his hand. "I did the best I could."

He shifted uneasily. "You didn't have to come looking at all…"

"I should have looked for you before. When you first went missing. I thought about you."

Connor closed his eyes for a long moment, silent. When the waitress brought their coffee, he didn't even move.

Quietly, Balthazar asked her to come back in a few minutes for their orders, and accepted the coffee.

Very slowly, Connor's eyes opened again, and he blinked to see her walking away. His gaze fell on the mug sitting before him, and he sad flatly, "I missed something."

"…Not much." He sighed. "Drink up, she'll be back."

Connor dumped a couple of creamers into his coffee, and took a gulp before speaking again, calmly. "Sorry, I had a long night. What were we talking about?"

"I was apologizing." Balthazar watched him with concern. Where had he gone, in his mind, for those few moments? Amnesia was not a good sign at all. "I… talked to Duncan. He told me… a lot of what happened since I went missing."

Hunched over, Connor stared into his coffee. After a moment he rubbed one eye. "Most of it?" His voice cracked softly.

"…Yes," His voice was gentle. "I asked him if he wanted me to tell you anything if I found you. He said to tell you he loves you, and you'll always be his true brother."

Connor shook his head a little and swallowed, curling up further in his seat until his face was just over his cup. It took him a long moment to speak. "What I did… tried to do… is unforgiveable."

While he was absorbing the news, Balthazar had woven a subtle spell, like a mist around their table, blocking out the rest of the café and granting them privacy. "Not to him. All he wants is for you to be all right."

"I'm… still here…" Connor shrugged despondently. "Didn't he tell you what I asked of him? I was his _teacher_…"

"He told me. People can be angry and still love you, Connor. I think he was very angry, and scared. But it's been a few years, and he's had time to forgive."

Connor fixed him with a dark, intense gaze across his coffee. "You don't understand." His face had hardened.

Balthazar tilted his head. "…Maybe not. Help me?"

The immortal heaved a sigh and gulped more coffee. "Not now. Not here. I'm hungry. Tell me about what happened to you."

The mist dropped away at a wave, and the waitress returned to take their order. Connor ordered the breakfast plate at the top of the menu with a silent stab of his finger, barely looking. Balthazar ordered eggs and fruit, and began explaining about his ordeal as the waitress walked away. It all began, of course, with a ten-year-old boy.

He knew it was clear from the way he talked about David that he was fond of his student, if somewhat bemused by him. He described him as 'like a puppy. A spindly, physics-obsessed puppy'. Connor ate what he'd ordered without complaint, but didn't seem to have much appetite. All the same, Balthazar's story seemed to be a relief to him, and he made a few acerbic comments, and smirked at intervals.

"…and then he tried to fly the eagle to Paris, and I had to have Veronica's help to go fetch him and his little girlfriend before they got shot down for violating international airspace or something." Balthazar was relieved to see the snark. That was the Connor he knew.

The immortal managed a quiet chuckle at the last, although it sounded just a little hollow. Just as after Brenda's death, he seemed functional, and his sense of humor was intact, but there was a weight and weariness behind it. He'd retreated into himself just that much further. As long as he wasn't being asked questions about himself, he passed for _almost_ normal. Working on his fourth cup of coffee, he gave a crooked smile, with tired eyes. "Sometimes they try to fly from the nest too early?"

Balthazar nodded, smile turning wistful. "I think I missed teaching. Just as well; he's got a few years before he'll be an adept, talent notwithstanding."

Connor looked thoughtful. "I've had a few students, but I've never been sure I was really cut out for it. I don't have the patience."

_That_ sounded like an understatement, and Balthazar smiled. "Mm. Maybe not."

His eyes narrowed. "For instance, how long do you think I can take _that_ look before I have to punch your face in?" He was even harder to read now, but it _probably_ wasn't a genuine threat.

Choosing to take it as a joke, Balthazar held up his hands defensively. "Not the face!" He was rewarded with a mild smirk.

After breakfast, he tried to beat Connor to paying the bill. The highlander made a subtle move for his own wallet, but relented without a word. According to Duncan, all his assets were in the younger immortal's hands. What he'd been living off of in the meantime was a good question, but it was clear he wasn't doing well.

As they returned to the car again Connor paused, resting a hand on the junker's roof, and stared into the middle distance. He looked uncertain and lost, but unwilling to ask for anything.

Balthazar stood next to him. "Will you come with me? At least for a little while?"

"…Come with you where?" His gaze refocused, a little puzzled.

"To Queens. Meet Veronica and David?" Balthazar was at once both sad and hopeful.

"Shouldn't I… let you set your life in order, first?" Connor folded his arms on the roof of the car and rested his chin on them, face a blank and voice quiet. "I'm not right in the head, Balthazar, I know it. I don't want to get my broken pieces underfoot of your new life. You deserve complete happiness." His voice was getting very hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken so much in a long time.

The sorcerer placed a gentle hand on his back. "I'm not going to force you, or argue, but… it doesn't seem right, knowing you're out here all alone. If I were a healer… but I'm not. All I've got to offer is that I want to be there for you."

Connor blinked once. "I'm used to being alone…"

"That's the problem; you retreat to heal yourself when you're wounded." Balthazar sighed. "If that's what works for you, I won't bother you. But is it really working?"

A muscle in Connor's jaw twitched, and his feet shifted, but the light touch on his back seemed to have him pinned. He reached to massage the back of his own neck, and finally let out a sigh. "Not really, but… would they understand?"

"Veronica would. David's just a kid- I'm not sure, honestly. Listen… I lost four students in the Inquisition. Watched them die. It took me two years before I could speak, and much, _**much**_ longer before I felt like I could face the world again. I know it takes time. If you want me to back off, I will. Just know that broken or whole, you _**are**_ loved."

He turned his face away a little, hand still on the back of his own neck, then he rummaged in his pocket with a sigh. "Will you write me the address?"

"Sure." It was something, at least. When Connor came up with a scrap of paper, he got out a pen and wrote his new address and his cell phone number, then pressed the note into Connor's hand. "I'll go… but keep me in mind."

"You know I _**hate**_ the telephone…" Connor smoothed the old gas receipt carefully, deliberating before he added, "Tell Duncan…" He struggled silently a long moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so…" Connor swallowed and gave a small shiver. "That's all."

"Yeah," Balthazar said gently, reading behind the words themselves. "I'll tell him." He squeezed Connor's arm gently, then backed away. "Take care, Connor."

"…You too. Take care of your new family." He gave Balthazar a sad, lopsided smile. "Hold them close."

The expression was painful to watch, but he nodded soberly, and watched the immortal get into the old car and drive off before finding a quiet place to teleport home from.

Balthazar called Duncan the next day, to report what had happened and give him Connor's message. Duncan was distraught that he'd let Connor go for roughly five seconds, but he clearly knew his kinsman's habits, and tried to soothe it for them both by telling him that Connor tramped around Canada alone for more than a decade, as a fur trapper. Solitude wasn't unusual for him. Balthazar knew they were both saddened and worried, but he had David and Veronica to distract him, and Duncan seemed to have friends around. Just knowing that Connor was still out there, even if he was wandering around like a stray dog, was comforting.

* * *

_Don't worry, I promise Connor will be back next chapter…_


	23. Half expected guest

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Sorry for a delay in posting, ffnet hasn't been friendly._

**Sword and Sorcery **

23. Half-expected guest

More than a week into January, Balthazar's Rolls Royce pulled up outside his new home in Queens, and he emerged still talking to Dave in the passenger seat. "…bad idea to leave a circle half-finished. It attracts things."

"What, like pixies?" Gawky, stumbling a little, his apprentice got out of the car carrying a couple of pizza boxes.

"No, like thaumavorous spiritual entities. If you'd like to keep your eyeballs, I suggest-" The sorcerer did a double take.

Parked across the street, lurking but conspicuous between an SUV and a new truck, sat the rusty old car he had last seen Connor driving. The immortal was sinking lower in the driver's seat, giving his apprentice a good brooding glower. He recognized the expression as a sign of insecurity, rather than anger, and wondered how long Connor had been sitting there. The immortal had driven all the way to see him, and was now sitting across from his house, too awkward or afraid to take the last step and go up to the door.

Balthazar met Connor's sullen look with an expression of delight.

"Wait, eyeballs? You never said anything about eyeballs-!" David blinked, following his master's line of sight.

Balthazar gestured absently. "Later. Go inside, tell the girls we've got company."

"We do?" He eyed Connor uncertainly. "…Okay."

Once the boy was on his way, Balthazar hurried across the street to see Connor, smiling.

Almost reluctantly, Connor opened the door, with that subtle practiced gesture of hiding his sword in his coat. It was the same brown wool coat, looking threadbare and worn, but not as badly as the man inside it. The shadows around his eyes were deep, and the first words out of his mouth were hoarse and cracked. "I shouldn't have come…"

"I'm glad you did." Balthazar pulled him into a gentle hug.

Connor seemed surprised by it, but relaxed after a moment and thumped him lightly on the back.

"We're having pizza, do you want some?" He beckoned him toward the house.

There was a subtle swallow. Connor might not have much appetite, but some part of his body seemed to know he wasn't getting enough to eat these days. "I didn't come to… get in the way…" His eyes were hungry for more than just food.

Balthazar placed a warm hand on his shoulder, a little afraid of losing him again. "You're always welcome here. Please come in?" He knew he was begging, now.

Connor came along with uncertain steps, at least as far as the door, but on the porch he tensed and drew himself into the guarded, almost predatory stance he often took with strangers.

He noticed this, but opened the door anyway, letting Connor in. The living room was furnished with a mix of contemporary and antique furniture, and there were magical implements all around. He was grateful to have had at least some of his belongings from the Arcana Cabana to furnish his new home.

Everyone else was in the dining room. Awkward and quietly edgy, Dave was arranging pizza boxes, while Becky was putting out place settings for five. Veronica entered from the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade, mid-sentence, "…salad, and cake, and there is always the leftover spaghetti." Her accent was heavy, noticeable even to Balthazar's ears, after he'd lost most of his own after decades in the United States. "There will be more than enough."

"Can I take your coat?" Balthazar offered, watching Connor's reaction.

The immortal was standing in the doorway like a wary animal, studying each of them in turn with that brooding gaze, and only Balthazar's offer snapped him out of it. He hesitated, then slowly and wordlessly removed his coat, sword still hidden inside, and handed it over. Underneath he was in jeans and a thin knit shirt, patched at the elbow and hanging off his lean frame. It didn't look warm enough for January, but at least it was long-sleeved.

Balthazar gave him an encouraging nod and went to hang up both their coats on the rack by the front door.

He hadn't moved by the time the sorcerer came back. David was looking a little unnerved by the intensity of Connor's gaze, but Becky seemed oblivious, and Veronica set the pitcher down and gave a small, shy smile.

"Everyone, this is Connor MacLeod. We've been friends for more than two decades. Connor, this is my student Dave, his friend Becky, and this… is Veronica."

He watched Connor's gaze make the rounds again as people were introduced, but when it settled on Veronica it softened. "It's… nice to finally meet you." Balthazar was struck anew by Connor's muddled European accent, which seemed to have thickened through years of isolation, and his voice sounded even raspier and quieter than usual.

Veronica approached and took Connor's hands, giving him a chaste kiss on one rough cheek. "I am so pleased you came to see us. Balthazar has told me a lot about you."

He blinked, looking dazed by the kiss, and went into a courtly bow over her hands as if trying to hide it. "I can't see how those two sentences go together." Connor managed a smirk.

She laughed, squeezed his hand, and went to pour the lemonade. "He speaks highly of you, except he says you're dangerous to drink with."

Balthazar set out plates, watching the interaction peacefully.

"I'm dangerous for a lot of reasons." This time it was impossible to tell if he meant it as a joke or not. Just the way he was standing, on the balls of his feet and hands loose, was a little predatory.

Veronica simply smiled, and offered him a glass. "We're all a little dangerous. It can't be helped."

He took the lemonade, but remained standing, shifting restlessly on his feet.

David and Becky vanished briefly into the kitchen, emerging with salad and bowls, and Balthazar fetched a chair from the other room. "Have a seat, Connor… your timing's good." He sat down next to the chair he was offering, feeling protective, although he wasn't quite sure who he was protecting from whom.

"…Are you calling me a mooch?" Connor scowled at Balthazar, but took the proffered seat. It was only his usual grumbling at a friend, but he looked tense, watching everyone else in his peripheral vision.

"No, I'm calling you too skinny." Balthazar fired back mildly. He was genuinely concerned about the obvious weight loss, Connor hadn't had much to spare in the first place, but he didn't dare address it seriously.

Veronica looked a little mystified by the exchange

David pulled out a chair, nervously for Becky, who didn't seem troubled by Connor's gruffness. She smiled up at her boyfriend. "Sit down, quit hovering."

"Just trying to be a gentleman…" He grinned awkwardly.

"You want to be a gentleman, get me some lemonade."

Connor gave a quiet snort of amusement at the youthful exchange, but shifted uneasily in his seat. To Balthazar he retorted in a grumble, "I could still take _you_ in a fair fight."

"There's no such thing." Balthazar opened a pizza box. "We have pepperoni, supreme, and vegetarian…"

There was a restrained gesture, as if Connor meant to give him a friendly punch in the shoulder, but he held off for the opening of the pizza boxes.

Lemonade was passed around, while Veronica and David sat, and Balthazar let the girls get their pizza first, then tilted the pepperoni box toward Connor in invitation. He knew Connor usually wasn't picky.

David seemed to accept that it was his lot to be served last, and waited patiently.

"I have beer, too, if the lemonade's not strong enough for you. Guinness. Veronica likes it." Balthazar took a slice for himself and slid the box towards his apprentice.

"I never liked Guinness," Becky commented. "Too strong."

David blinked at her. "…aren't you underage?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled at him.

"…Really?" Connor gave Balthazar a hopeful look, but was quick to resume the gruff façade. "Back when, there was no such thing as underage. As long as you could get your chin over the bartop…" He stopped there, and started eating.

Veronica smiled. "Get me one, too."

Saluting, Balthazar moved off into the kitchen, still keeping an ear on the conversation.

David snagged a piece of pizza. "I thought girls liked stuff like daiquiris and wine coolers…"

"Maybe girls do. Real women drink beer." Veronica said calmly. She was given a knuckle-bump across the table from Becky, and she laughed, then turned a warm gaze on Connor. "Did you travel far? I hope you'll stay the night at least."

Connor chuckled quietly at the women, but a shadow crossed his face as soon as Veronica asked. He shrugged, not meeting her gaze, face hard. "I don't want to be in the way." Some people might have said that as a subtle coaxing for hospitality, but he clearly meant it.

"You're not. He misses you." She took a delicate bite of her pizza, watching him.

Returning with beers for Connor and Veronica, Balthazar acted casual, as if he hadn't been listening in. He settled down to eat peacefully.

Connor gave a quiet shrug in answer, and seemed glad for the distraction of his return. He finished both beer and lemonade, three slices of pizza, and ate salad too when it was offered. He seemed to have given in to hunger, and the friendly warmth of the company. By the salad, he was clearly slowing down, but he waved his empty Guinness bottle meaningfully at Balthazar. Never much of a conversationalist, he said little through the meal, although what he did say was snarky. He seemed far from relaxed in their company, but not aggressive, either.

David seemed leery, and only spoke directly to Connor once or twice, but Veronica and Becky were friendly and seemed to take his comments in stride.

Balthazar fetched him a fresh bottle obligingly, while Veronica served out chocolate cake for dessert.

As they were finishing up, Becky asked, "So do you do the magic thing, too?"

Caught a little off-guard, Connor gave her an intense stare over his beer. He'd almost finished the second one, already. "No. I do the headhunting thing." He let that hang in the air, without elaboration.

She looked startled. "I'm not… sure what you mean by that."

"Um…" David glanced at Balthazar for help. "I think he means literally…?"

Balthazar felt mildly put-upon. He'd explained the basics to his apprentice already. "Connor is an immortal. People like him carry a power called the Quickening, which can only be released by beheading. They hunt one another to absorb each others power. Otherwise, they don't age, and they don't die."

Connor finished his beer in a long swallow and set the bottle down quietly. "In the end, there can be only one." The statement was heavy, leaden.

Becky nodded slowly, accepting it all, but looking unsure what to say. "So… I'm the only normal one at this table?"

"Pretty much." David nodded.

"Normal is subjective." Balthazar stole a sip of Veronica's beer, and she smacked him on the arm.

"Get your own!"

"I did. It just happened to be yours first."

Connor managed a very grim smile, and his gaze slid over to the lightly bickering couple. He watched them with a silent, distant gaze, mentally retreating.


	24. After dinner drinks

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

**Sword and Sorcery **

24. After dinner drinks

After cake in the living room, right around the time they began clearing off the table, David and Becky excused themselves, saying they had a concert to get to. Although they'd given warning of it before, Balthazar found the exit very well timed to miss helping with dishes.

"Eyeballs." David said to him by way of a parting comment, referencing the earlier conversation cut short by Connor's appearance.

"Eyeballs." He confirmed. "We'll discuss it later. Watch yourself."

Becky waved tentatively to Connor as they headed for the door.

The immortal gave them a vague nod, having lapsed into silence again over the cake. He seemed to have retreated further, but his expression wasn't entirely dark, just very far away.

"Should I leave you boys to talk?" Veronica watched Connor thoughtfully.

"Will you be all right on your own?" Balthazar asked her, feeling a little guilty that she should feel the need to step out, but also knowing he'd have better luck talking to Connor alone, for now.

"Of course. I have books to read." Veronica had always been a voracious reader, but now she had centuries worth of history and literature to catch up on.

Connor was still gazing into somewhere else, but he shifted a little, and seemed to be listening. Balthazar saw him start to speak and then hesitate, and half expected him to offer to leave, again.

"Go on, then, we'll call if we need you." He watched her go tenderly, then turned back to Connor. Anything to keep him there. "You want another beer?"

"If you haven't got anything stronger…?" He seemed to pull himself back to the present, sounding a little hopeful.

"Actually, I do have a bottle of scotch…" Balthazar got up, smiling.

In a very deliberate effort to relax, Connor leaned back with a sigh. "I haven't been drunk in fifteen years…"

"We'll work on that." He thought Veronica might not be pleased, but she would understand. Balthazar fetched scotch from a cabinet in the kitchen, as well as glasses.

He returned to the living room to find Connor gazing distantly at the fireplace mantel, where the knife he had once given Balthazar for Christmas sat in a place of honor. The immortal leaned forward again at the sight of the scotch, though. "Not Glenmorangie, but it'll do." He smiled faintly.

"I'll be sure to get the right kind next time." Bemused, he set out the glasses and filled them both, then sat.

"She's… they're…" Connor frowned thoughtfully and took a glass. "I'm happy for you."

"Sorry everyone was here at once," Balthazar apologized. "That might have been a bit much."

Connor shrugged and tossed back the first gulp, eyes closed a moment. "I didn't mean to put a shadow on your… gathering."

"You didn't. I'm glad you're here, and so is Veronica."

"She's… very kind." He clearly wanted to say more than that, but seemed to be struggling for words.

"She has a warm heart." Balthazar sipped his scotch. "Tough as nails, though. Always has been."

"That's important, too." His choices in romantic interests always seemed to be strong women, and he'd certainly raised one. "You deserve to be together. I'm sorry it took so long." It sounded like an awkward attempt at small talk, and he was draining his glass rapidly.

"There's something you should know," Balthazar said slowly, hesitant to deliver the information. "The immortality spell on us ended when Morgana was destroyed. It was part of the terms. We're going to age now. We're talking about… we may do some longevity spells, because Horvath may still cause trouble, but they won't be the equal of Merlin's work."

His gaze lifted to meet Balthazar's, intense but hard to read, and he emptied his glass before setting it down on the table gently. "I… understand." He frowned at the empty tumbler.

"We probably have a good two-hundred years or so if we do spells," He added, "Maybe fifty if we don't. We're not going anywhere any time soon."

Connor spun the empty glass on the tabletop, choosing his words with slow care. "Just because you're older than me, I can't expect you to go on forever. I know better than that. You might outlive me yet. I'm not in good fighting shape anymore, and sooner or later…" His voice was very hollow and tired. The quiet resignation in his expression was painful to watch.

"I don't want to leave you. And I don't want you to leave me, either." Balthazar said quietly. "Just… want you to know that."

At last Connor reached for the bottle and refilled his own glass. "What… I did to Duncan was wrong. Unforgiveable…" His voice choked a little on this before he continued, "But most of my reasons for doing it haven't gone away. I just can't do that to him, and I'm not willing to try suicide and throw my Quickening to the wind."

"Do you want to tell me about it? About why?" His heart ached in sympathy.

Connor shrugged listlessly. "I think you already know the answer to that. I'm just… so tired of people getting hurt for knowing me. I don't think I can take another loss, but I know myself too well to think I can keep from caring about people."

He was silent for a long moment, then said quietly, "We're all so fragile… I'm sorry, Connor. If I could think of a way to give you peace…"

Connor closed his eyes with a pained expression, and took a long swallow. "I wouldn't ask that of you, either."

"I didn't necessarily mean eternal peace. There are sleep spells… potions. But they're only a delaying tactic. You have to feel all of the pain, for a long time, before you heal."

He shook his head with a grimace. "_**That**_ just sounds like the Sanctuary." He hesitated, "Duncan told you about that place…?"

"Yes. But he didn't seem sure whether you went there on purpose or not." He leaned forward and refilled his own glass.

Connor frowned slightly, and leaned back, gaze unfocusing just a little. "…After John's funeral, I went to the nearest pub and just started drinking…" His tone was carefully detached, but Balthazar wasn't surprised by the news. "A couple of men came and sat down at my table –I knew they were Watchers, pretty quick. They started to tell me about the Sanctuary, and it _did_ sound tempting, but…" He gave a mild shake of his head. "The next thing I can remember was being strapped in with the I.V.'s and a visor coming over my face…"

Balthazar let out a long breath, privately horrified. "I should have looked for you. I thought… I don't know what I thought." The last wasn't entirely true. He'd thought Connor had abandoned him, and it had never occurred to him that might be the other way around.

Connor shrugged. "I may have told them yes. I was pretty drunk." He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "Do you know what it's like to die of alcohol poisoning?"

"…Not firsthand, no. Should I be cutting you off?" It was a lame attempt at a joke.

"Bah, one bottle won't do it." He was still trying to smile a little, but it looked very hollow and tired. He also seemed to be trying to finish his glass quickly, as if afraid he really would get cut off.

"Take it easy, you can have as much as you want. I… worry, but as long as you're not driving anywhere…"

That made Connor pause, in the middle of reaching for the bottle. "You two are probably… you can tell me any time, when you need me to go." His face had closed up again, hard and unreadable.

"I don't _want_ you to go, Connor. We have a guestroom."

With a tentative hand, Connor poured another measure of scotch. "What about her? I won't be an object for argument…" He looked reluctant to go, though. Now that it was after dark, it would be very cold outside, but he seemed terrified of wearing out his welcome.

"We could ask her. I think you'll find she's the kind of woman who speaks her mind freely."

Connor shifted uneasily, and just held his third glass. "You're sure I won't be in the way?" He almost whispered.

"I'm sure. We have plenty to share, plenty of space. Stay as long as you want. Please." Shifting closer on the couch, Balthazar laid a gentle hand on his back.

He frowned a little, hunching his shoulders, and took a few slow sips of scotch. "If any headhunters come near this place, I'm gone, and I'm not coming back." Connor massaged the back of his own neck, tense.

"Understood, but be aware that Veronica can take care of herself. She's a better sorceress than I am, honestly. Dave and Becky are vulnerable, though."

Connor turned to give him an intense stare, coldly demanding, but driven by deep fear underneath. "I don't want to put anyone in danger, ever again."

Balthazar's gaze softened, and he nodded. "All right. You don't have to say anything more."

Some of the tension seemed to ease out of the immortal, and he took another drink. After a moment he added, "You… _do_ know to wake me at a distance?"

"That would be why I sent the dove in first, yes."

His gaze went distant and returned again, in under a minute. "…Thanks." It was hoarse, and he looked down, clearly embarrassed by a flush of emotion.

After a slightly awkward silence, Balthazar fell into telling him a few stories of Dave's training, primarily the ones where the apprentice made mistakes. By the time Veronica looked in there was nothing left in the bottle. She scolded them- not for getting drunk, but for getting drunk without her.

Loosened up by the scotch, almost double what Balthazar had drunk, Connor laughed at this. He even offered her the paltry remains in his own glass in what was possibly meant to be a gallant gesture, but he swayed unsteadily as he held it out.

She accepted, and started to tell him about the time she drank both Balthazar and Horvath under the table, but Balthazar laughingly interrupted her. "No! No! He doesn't need the ammunition!"

Connor grinned at her, and reached out to push Balthazar over roughly. "Go on."

"Oof!" Balthazar almost slid off the couch, snorting with laughter.

Ignoring the sound of protest, Connor settled back in his seat with an expression of quiet amusement.

Veronica downed the last of the scotch, handed the glass back, and perched in a chair, telling the story of her 18th birthday, long ago. Beginning to tentatively compete for her interest, Horvath and Balthazar had taken her out to celebrate, but it had gotten out of hand and Merlin himself had to come drag the boys home. Listening to the tale, Balthazar heard himself described as shy, scrawny and bookish. It was a fair assessment.

Normally Connor would have been merely tipsy, from the amount he'd had that night, but cumulative exhaustion and years without heavy drinking seemed to have conspired against him. He gave a raspy chuckle a few times, but by the end of the story he looked like he was permanently melted into the couch.

Balthazar stood unsteadily. "I think it's time to call it a night."

"Can you make it up the stairs?" Veronica teased.

"'Course. Ohh, I should have made up the guest bed…" He grimaced, a hand on the back of a chair for balance.

"Already done." Veronica smiled at Connor.

The immortal looked guilty, leaning forward and very carefully putting his empty glass on the table, as if it were moving. It took him a moment to lurch to his feet, but when he did he took a few unsteady steps in the general direction of the front door.

"Going somewhere?" Balthazar watched him, puzzled.

"Get my sword." Connor worked his way across the room to where his coat was hung with slow, determined steps.

"…Oh." Balthazar was sure there was a bad joke in that, somewhere, but his brain was too foggy to come up with it.

Veronica raised an eyebrow and stood, watching.

Connor drew the katana out of his coat, scabbard and all, and turned back to them, swaying a little. "_**Now**_ I'm ready to sleep."

Balthazar snickered. "Yeah… you look ready to sleep. Come on."

Veronica picked up the empty glasses and bottle to take to the kitchen, apparently trusting them both to get up the stairs without incident. Balthazar was sure she was hiding a smirk.

Connor fought his way back across the room to Balthazar, carrying the sword tucked at his side like a samurai. He was silent, and seemed focused just on keeping his feet. When he saw the guest bed he propped the katana at the head of it with great ceremony, then sprawled, fully clothed, on top of the covers.

Balthazar watched him a moment, then turned out the light and staggered to his own room. He was asleep even before Veronica came to join him for the night.


	25. Good night gone bad

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

**Sword and Sorcery **

25. Good night gone bad

They allowed Connor to sleep himself out, in the morning, and Balthazar was relieved that the immortal slept late. Veronica seemed just as amused over his mild hangover as she was sympathetic. He spent the morning sipping tea and doing very little, but they settled together comfortably on the couch, and eventually began to discuss what to do with their new houseguest. "I'm not sure he'll actually want to go into Manhattan," Balthazar mused quietly, "But we should do something. He's very active; gets restless."

"It's a shame the weather's so bad. Is it really going to snow again?" Veronica still marveled over technological weather prediction.

"Might." His arm slid around her, and he put his other hand on hers. It was cozy and warm, in the house, and he would have been content to stay right there. "But it's not intolerable, either. That little park might be worth visiting."

"If he's not too hung over." Veronica smiled.

"He won't be."

"I really am glad he showed up," Veronica went on. "He's not quite what I expected. You made him sound like some sort of… of superhero, but he seems very normal. Very human. Just… hurt."

"Superhero?" Balthazar chuckled. Veronica's instruction in pop culture was progressing nicely, thanks to Dave and Becky. "Did I? I didn't mean to. He's remarkable though, in a way that has nothing to do with the immortality."

"Mm. I'm glad you have a friend. You need looking after." She kissed him softly. "But yes. I can see he's hard to get close to, but I think I like him."

"What do you mean I need looking aft- Good morning, Connor." Balthazar blinked, wondering how long the immortal had been standing in the doorway. His face was a careful blank, still haggard and unshaven, but he looked marginally better.

Veronica turned and smiled calmly.

Connor nodded in greeting, giving nothing away. "Sorry I slept late."

"Are you hungry?" He kissed Veronica on the cheek and stood. "There's coffee… it's almost lunchtime."

Back to wary and reserved, Connor shrugged. "I can wait until you two are eating…"

"Actually, I'm starving." Veronica stood. "Take us to lunch, Balthazar?"

He smiled faintly. "The ice cream place again? You're an addict."

She made a face at him, then smiled endearingly at Connor. "That's okay, isn't it?"

He gave a small smile, looking just a little charmed by her. "Fine, just let me get my sword." Without waiting for a reply, Connor slipped away up the stairs, back in a moment with it.

When he returned, Balthazar was helping Veronica with her coat. They went out in the chill bravely, and took Balthazar's car out to a café that specialized in sundae desserts. Ordering soup and a banana split, Veronica waxed enthusiastic about ice cream in general, one of her favorite discoveries about the new world.

Connor kept his katana in his coat, and seemed not to care that he was still in yesterday's clothes. The outing seemed to be a relief to him, though, normal and friendly. He talked about being in the North, in Canada, and pouring syrup in the snow to make candy. His tone was quiet, more reserved than when he'd been drunk, but he seemed stable and calm. He ate half of a sandwich and part of a milkshake, but conversation distracted him.

Balthazar let them talk, and when they were both done eating he proposed going to the park.

"…Trying to keep me busy?" Connor tried to pin Balthazar with his gaze, but there was no anger in it.

"Figured you'd stay longer if we entertained you." He answered calmly.

Connor looked awkward. "You don't have to entertain me. It's… good just to see you again."

Balthazar smiled warmly and nudged his shoulder.

The three of them visited the park for a while, anyway, and Veronica walked between the men holding them each by the arm. Connor seemed deeply surprised by the gesture, but didn't protest, falling into stride with them. They talked a little, but spent most of the walk in companionable quiet. Balthazar knew Connor wasn't a conversationalist by nature, and he seemed relieved not be pressed into it. Nearly empty, and muffled with snow, the park held a sense of peace. Sneaking glances at his old friend, the sorcerer saw him wearing an open expression that restored a hint of his lost youthfulness.

After they got back to the house, Balthazar spent some time on the phone with David, but he was aware of Connor roaming the house. He seemed to be restless already, but Veronica diverted his attention to their not-insubstantial collection of books. By the time he finished his call, he found Connor perusing the shelves with avid interest. As Veronica helped him prepare a light dinner of fish and potatoes, she told him Connor had said he hadn't had time for reading lately. It seemed likely 'lately' meant in the last fifteen years.

They were up late after dinner, chatting and reading. Unrestricted by language and an expert at the delicate handling of antiques, Connor seemed determined to explore every volume they had that wasn't magical, and he was still up when Balthazar and Veronica retired to bed. Relieved that his friend was at least staying another night, Balthazar drifted off peacefully beside his wife, content.

Around three-thirty in the morning, a hysterical scream rang out in the upstairs bathroom, followed by the buzz and crackle of a plasma bolt. Balthazar sat up, only to find the bed beside him empty. Connor skidded past the bedroom doorway in only boxers and a t-shirt, katana raised and ready for a fight, and the sorcerer cursed his own slower reflexes. He staggered out of the room and up behind Connor, who had reached the bathroom doorway. Hair sticking out every which way, badly in need of a shave, Connor looked a little like a madman.

Veronica was cowering against the shower, trembling wildly, in her sleeveless nightgown. Her plasma bolt had melted a hole in the bathroom window, and more power crackled around her fingers, but she had yet to release it. Her expression showed no recognition of Connor, only horror.

Balthazar assessed the situation quickly, trying to calm the pounding of his own heart. "Easy, you two… easy…" This was not, unfortunately, the first incident along these lines.

Connor's wild gaze slid to the damaged window, but he shifted his stance to let Balthazar past, still tense. "What was it? _Who_ was it?" Protective, he looked ready for a fight.

Moving past him to Veronica, Balthazar held up a hand to still him. His wife stared at him blankly. "Steady… it's all right, Veronica… it's me… you're dreaming."

She raised a hand as if to ward him off, but there was uncertainty in her gaze.

Connor blinked, gradually taking in the scene, and his blade lowered. After a moment he drew back, out of sight, but the sound of his retreat put him just around the corner of the doorway.

"Prove…" Veronica growled at Balthazar, distrustful of her own senses.

"Touch me. I won't hurt you. It's all right…" He soothed gently, staying very still.

"…Balthazar?" She burst into tears abruptly. "I saw her. I saw her in the window. It was Morgana, I swear…!"

"Ssh… Morgana's dead, angel. She's never coming back." He moved in then, and wrapped the trembling woman in his arms. There was no lingering dark power, only Veronica's. Morgana was gone, but being trapped with her so long had left its scars. He rocked her in his arms for a while, and never heard Connor leave, but after several minutes there was the quiet clank of the teakettle and the rattle of cups and things from downstairs.

Together they made their way down, Veronica clinging to him and looking ashamed.

Connor was no longer wild-eyed and the sword was nowhere in sight, but he still needed a shave and his hair looked like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. Stripped down to underclothes he looked thin and lanky, and only his way of moving kept him from looking as gawky as David. Physically, they were the same age, but the immortal moved like an old predator, while David still spent a lot of time tripping over his own feet. Wordlessly, Connor offered Veronica a mug of tea that looked milky and smelled of whiskey. The bottle was still on the counter. His expression was deeply apologetic, even though he'd done nothing wrong.

She looked equally apologetic, and tentatively accepted the tea. "Oh Connor… Thank you. I'm… awfully sorry." Her eyes were red from crying, but she smiled weakly.

Balthazar gently squeezed her shoulders.

"What are _you_ sorry for? I must have scared you…" He retreated a few steps. "You want any, Balthazar?"

"It wasn't you… It was the nightmares." She sat shakily.

"…Could I? Thanks." Balthazar sighed heavily, petting Veronica's hair.

Connor fixed another cup much like the first, milk, whiskey and all, and brought it over, then poured himself a straight shot from the bottle and stood leaning against the counter. After a long moment of silence, he said quietly, "I… used to dream about Kurgan, for years after."

Balthazar looked at him thoughtfully. After he'd left New York with Brenda, the Kurgan had never come up in conversation again.

Veronica gulped her tea, then searched his face. "It's… only every couple weeks, but I keep breaking things…"

"She's… completely gone, though?" Connor frowned thoughtfully.

"There may be some lingering influence," Balthazar confessed. "It's hard to be sure." He and Veronica both had already done what they could to investigate that, magically.

Connor nodded and tapped his head with the glass. "I asked because he's still in here. And Kane… and everyone _they_ took…" His gaze went slightly distant.

The exponential implications were more than a little worrying. "You have to live with them all in your head? That's terrible…" Veronica seemed distracted by compassion.

He shrugged very slowly, looking at nothing now, and sipped his scotch. "They killed my friends, my teachers… but that means _**they're**_ with me, too. But the Kurgan… was the worst quickening I ever had. I thought my head would split open. And the memories…" His expression darkened until he was giving the empty air a ready-to-kill look. "There are things I hoped he was lying about. Now I know he wasn't."

Balthazar was torn, wanting to comfort them both, but part of him also wanted to ask about Jacob Kell. The Kurgan had been bad, but from what Duncan had told him it seemed like Kell might have been worse. He stood next to Veronica, stroking her hair.

She reached out toward Connor tentatively, concerned.

Jacob Kell must have been in his mind too, but that wound was still raw. His gaze pulled back to the present a little, and he gave Veronica a grim, distant smile. "Mostly you just have to tell them to shut up. If she couldn't subsume you when it first happened, her chances now are pretty slim." This was probably intended to be reassuring.

Veronica shuddered, nodded, and looked teary again.

Balthazar conjured a handkerchief out of the air and gently dabbed at her cheek. "Time will heal it."

Connor looked apologetic again, and downed the whiskey in one gulp. He was trying to help, but the only lessons Connor seemed to know were hard ones.

"I'm sorry I almost attacked you." Veronica added at length, when she had herself pulled together again.

"I asked for it." He smirked sheepishly, and looked down at his bare feet. "I thought you were being attacked."

She laughed weakly. "I guess there's no harm done. The window can be fixed. Thank you."

"…For what? It's your tea." Connor continued to look sheepish.

"Wanting to protect us." She smiled a little, and sipped her tea.

Balthazar sat with his, seeing that she was recovering.

Connor shrugged, and considered the bottle on the counter beside him. "You're taking a risk, letting me stay here. You know that, don't you?"

Balthazar shrugged, considering what had just occurred upstairs. "You're taking a risk staying here."

He looked up and gave Balthazar a weary smile. "But I've got nothing left to lose."

"That's a terrible thing to say." Veronica chided gently. "Anyway, you have us, and we're not going anywhere."

Connor shrugged, and carefully closed up the bottle. He clearly would have liked to empty it, personally, but was showing restraint. "Never mind. You should get some sleep."

"Will you be all right?" She finished her tea in a gulp and stood.

Balthazar was silent, watching them.

"I'll be _fine_." He brushed her off with a hollow smile and offered to take the empty cup.

She let him, but it was clear from her expression that she was unconvinced.

"I'll be up in a minute." Balthazar reached to stroke her cheek, and she nodded, heading off upstairs alone.

Connor washed the cup carefully, even though there was a dishwasher.

The sorcerer watched him thoughtfully. "She likes you. You know that, right?"

"I… guess so. Isn't she the kind of person who likes everybody?" He dried the cup, watching his own hands intently. "I'm fine, it just startled me awake."

"Not everybody." He leaned on the counter. "You're not fine, but I know there's not much I can do, either."

Connor paused with a frown. "I'm fine about _**this**_, then. I'm glad I haven't woken either of you up."

Balthazar sighed, suddenly very tired. "You have nightmares, too?" He mentally kicked himself for having not expected that already.

He shrugged. "It's normal. I've just… been afraid I'll wake up slicing the guest bed to pieces or something. That would be embarrassing." Knowing his guilt complex, it probably wasn't the bed he was afraid of hurting.

"Heh. It's fixable; slice away." He hesitated. "You know I… never mind. Later." He found he didn't have the energy to get into deeper conversation.

Connor finished up and came to rest a hand on Balthazar's shoulder. "She needs you. Better go make sure she has good dreams." He smirked, not at all ashamed of any innuendo.

Balthazar found himself actually blushing, but smiled faintly. "You have good advice sometimes."

He tapped his head. "Not as dumb as I look, remember. Ramirez and Nakano live up here, too." He looked tired, but a little amused.

"Goodnight, Connor." Balthazar thumped him on the shoulder, then moved off upstairs. He heard the kitchen light click off behind him, and Connor grumbling quietly to himself as he followed the sorcerer up, and vanished back into his own room.


	26. The chair was too much for him

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Sorry for the delay, this was a long chapter, and I'm on a shared computer._

**Sword and Sorcery **

26. The chair was too much for him

Each day, Connor's restless offers to get out of their way lessened, as he seemed to adjust to staying in their home. After a few days, Balthazar was up early, going through books and papers and packing up what he needed for Dave's lessons. The immortal came down rumpled but dressed, went straight for the coffee, and then watched him intently over the rim of his mug.

"Morning." Balthazar said absently after a moment. Connor's piercing stares were hard to ignore. "…Dave's done with his physics project. Time to show him some wand and staff work."

Connor looked broody, but he often did in the morning, and the first thing out of his mouth was anything but. "With or without Veronica?"

"She's going to st-" He broke off as the innuendo sank in and turned to glower at Connor.

Connor simply raised an eyebrow and put up his hands. His expression was striving to be innocent, and failing. "Who am I to question what sorcerers do with their apprentices?"

"I never knew you were a pervert." Balthazar accused him, "Drink your coffee, or you'll be wearing it." It was good to see the immortal making jokes, even dirty ones.

"…Really? You must not have been listening right, all those years." He looked shameless, but went back to drinking his coffee. The signs were subtle, but he was beginning to look just a little healthier for his stay in their home.

"Hmph. Just for that, I'm bringing you along. Some of these spells go better with a live target."

Connor paused, and looked intrigued. "Any of them likely to decapitate?"

"Not really, no." Balthazar looked amused. He'd hoped the idea would catch his interest.

"I bet you'd owe me, after." Connor took the last of his coffee in a gulp and set the mug down.

"Maybe. What would you expect in return?"

He shrugged, hiding the flicker of a smirk. "Scotch usually suffices as coin of the realm…" His face sobered quickly. "I owe _you_, anyway, for letting me stay here."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Balthazar smiled. "I think I can swing a bottle of scotch. I'll tell Veronica we're going."

Connor nodded, and was ready to go with coat and sword before Balthazar reached the door. He carried his carpetbag out to the car, and Veronica accompanied them that far to give him a kiss goodbye. "We'll be back for dinner," He nuzzled her cheek. "I'll bring something home."

Connor waited quietly, restless, but he seemed to be in a relatively good mood. Balthazar snuck a guilty glance at his expression as they got in, but the immortal no longer seemed to mind their displays of affection. He nodded at Veronica as she waved them off, and headed in towards the city, careful to avoid their old haunts in Manhattan. The immortal watched intently out the window as they went, anyway, and didn't speak until he was parking near Dave's laboratory.

"Did you ever get your stuff out of storage?"

"Some of it. Most of it's safer where it is." Balthazar got out and stretched.

Connor nodded and got out, rolling his shoulders and neck a little. His expression was quiet and guarded, and he looked tense.

Balthazar led him into the entrance and the elevator. When it opened up on the floor below, they could see David carefully moving a Tesla coil to one side of the huge, dingy room.

"You never told me what grade you got," Balthazar said as he stepped out.

"What do you think, man? I eat and breathe molecular physics." David grinned over his shoulder, then almost lost his grip on the Tesla coil in surprise as he spotted Connor.

Playing silent shadow, Connor was pacing after Balthazar with a predatory air. It struck Balthazar that the intense, roving gaze might look intimidating, but he knew that Connor was taking in potential exits and entrances, and spots for a good defensive stance. He often assessed new places that way, especially when he felt at risk from headhunters. Considering he'd been out of Manhattan for fifteen years, that was a good possibility.

"Careful," Balthazar chided David, a little amused by his reaction. "I brought Connor along for target practice."

"Uh… are you sure that's cool with him? I mean, Tank could use the break, but…"

Connor spread his arms wide and looked down at the apprentice with a predatory smile. "Scared I can't take it?"

"Ah, he needs something to occupy his time." Balthazar gave Connor a friendly thump on the back, and trotted down the stairs. He was hoping his own casual behavior around Connor would show the boy that he didn't need to be so fearful of him.

"As long as I'm not gonna get hit…" He gave the Tesla coil a last shove into place.

"_That_ depends what you do to me." Connor came down eyeballing the coils, relaxing just a little now that the initial inspection was over. "Building your own power station down here? Hey Balthazar, remember that fake Quickening in the park? You should have had a set of these…"

"Experiments with plasma." David shrugged and gestured dismissively.

"I remember. They're useful, but a little conspicuous." Balthazar paused by a table as something caught his eye. He picked up a pink bra delicately, by one strap. "Whoa, Dave! In the lab? Not much of a romantic, are you?"

David turned red and came over to snatch the bra away. "It's not like that! Her washing machine broke down; she was doing laundry and it got left behind…"

"Well that's one way to pass the time while waiting for the spin cycle." Connor was wearing an evil grin.

Balthazar snickered. Connor's dirty sense of humor was just fine, as long as it was applied to anyone but himself.

"…I can do this music thing? With the Tesla coils? She kind of likes-" Dave flailed a little, put the bra in his pocket, then thought better of it. "I'm… gonna go put this in a bag for her…"

Balthazar almost doubled over as the boy galloped off upstairs.

"Guess you've been teaching him well." Connor gave him a solid thump on the back.

The blow sent him staggering a little, unprepared, and he straightened as he tried to recover from laughing. "Ahh. He's a good kid."

"Must be, if she forgot to take that home with her." Connor seemed ready to milk the joke for all he could.

"Heheh. Good to know he's living a little. He's not lying about the laundry, I'm sure. He's the worst liar I've ever known. But I bet there was more going on."

Connor shrugged, pacing the room slowly and taking in the details. "He's the right age for it."

"Nineteen. Raging hormones." Balthazar opened the carpetbag and took out three wands, and two large staves longer than the bag was deep.

Connor gave a grunt, eyeing Balthazar's expression. "What _are_ you going to have him do to me?"

The sorcerer gave a sly smile, teasing Connor gently. "Not sure yet. You mind being levitated for a start?"

"Never have been, so how should I know?" He let the unspoken taunt go.

Dave returned, having tamed his blushing. "R-right, all taken care of. What are we doing?"

"Get in the circle, in the section for Mind."

Connor gave a put-upon sigh. "Where do I stand?"

"Mind?" Dave's eyes widened a fraction. "I don't like Mind. I have a bad history with Mind."

"I patched you up last time. You didn't even scar. Don't argue." Balthazar took a calm, matter-of-fact tone.

"That's not the point!" Despite the protest, he went over to the circle meekly and wreathed himself in magical flame.

"Mind is the subtlest circle; if you don't master it, Horvath will use it against you." Balthazar turned to Connor. "Sit for now. That chair by the desk is fine."

Connor eyed the chair as if it might hold a bear trap, and sat reluctantly, elbows on knees, using only half the seat. He watched with interest, and that subtle magical curiosity Balthazar had noticed long ago. Since taking Kane's head, and Nakano's Quickening in the process, he'd grown noticeably more powerful.

Balthazar glanced at him with interest, but said nothing for the moment. Connor wasn't the one he was there to teach. After leading Dave through some brief meditative exercises, they discussed levitation while shielding. Here, Connor got to be helpful, as Dave was put in charge of levitating him in his chair and shielding him while Balthazar hurled plasma bolts.

Connor put up with this with folded arms and a scowl, but that was good grace, coming from him. At least he didn't weigh any more than Balthazar did, and Dave had levitated him before. Only once was he _nearly_ dropped, but Dave managed to set him down gently.

"Good." Balthazar nodded approvingly. "Now you have a choice- wands or staves? We'll go over both, but I'm not sure how much we'll get through today."

David stepped out of the circle to get a drink of water. "I dunno. You're the master…"

Connor paced, stretched, and generally looked like he was done with sitting. "What do you do with those?"

"They can be used for either rituals or combat, but we're focusing on combat today. Wands are better for split-second transfiguration, staves for physical combat mixed with magical battle."

Connor grinned, and without a warning he had the blade in his hand, flashing in a figure eight. "This sounds more interesting."

Dave's eyes grew very big, and he looked to Balthazar for rescue.

"Relax," Balthazar grinned. "He's not going to cut off _your_ head. Get back in the circle; we'll start with staves."

As the apprentice returned to the circle, Balthazar picked up both staves and tossed one to the boy. "These are both oak, and they're blessed, but they don't have to be for combat."

Connor sighed, sword lowering. "Just because I'm a headhunter doesn't mean I'll hurt just anybody." He gestured to Balthazar's staff with the katana. "If they're magic, what will those do to my blade? I don't want to have to make another one."

"They're just wood. You could probably slice through them. One of the things I'm about to teach is magical reinforcement, though." He turned to explain this briefly to David, then showed him some basic moves with the staff, blocking and swinging with ease. Balthazar had never been much for physical combat, but he knew he could hold his own.

The immortal watched from the sidelines with an expert eye, still as a rock with the katana at his side. Arms training was likely as familiar to him as breathing.

David didn't have the grace or strength to hold up long, but he was spirited and got up again and again to keep trying. Balthazar thumped him on the back reassuringly. "Don't worry, it takes time."

"Yeah, I… pretty much have always sucked at this kind of thing?"

"You're only nineteen. You have plenty of time to stop sucking. Any advice for him, Connor?"

"I started learning arms before ten, and when I was nineteen I rode into battle against the Frasers." Balthazar seemed to recall that was how Connor had taken his first death, but to be fair, that had been at the hands of another immortal. Connor regarded David critically and tucked the katana away in his coat. "Toss me that, boy." It didn't sound patronizing, but he'd slipped into gruff teacher mode.

David blinked and tossed him the staff gamely.

Balthazar backed up to give him room, trusting Connor.

Connor caught the staff and twirled it once, then shrugged his coat off onto a chair. "Watch while your arms rest; It's your turn next." He faced Balthazar measuringly. "You want me to defend?"

"You choose. You're stronger, though."

He smiled faintly, but looked all business. "Speed matters as much or more than strength. Attack me."

"Yeah, you're faster, too." Balthazar lunged, swinging upward.

Connor moved to block easily, hands shifting as he continued the move to throw Balthazar's staff wide, and jut the end of his own staff for the sorcerer's throat. It stopped a few inches short, he paused, then returned to the guarded pose he started at.

Balthazar tried to dodge, and used the other end of the staff to sweep at Connor's legs. The immortal leaped back as he blocked, but it was a narrow thing. He hadn't been fully on his guard. Balthazar knew he would be, now, but he grinned at the near miss. He backed up a step, twirling the staff once, waited for a moment, then made a move for Connor's midsection.

Connor blocked and his staff slid up Balthazar's for a jab of his own, but once again he stopped just before making contact. For a while Connor played defense, showing how to parry the blows and turn them to advantage, but the first time he actually tapped Balthazar he apologized. As they went on, the pace picked up, Connor grew a little more aggressive. Eventually a swing he may have expected Balthazar to dodge knocked the sorcerer down, and Connor was quick to haul him to his feet again with an armclasp, smiling apologetically.

Balthazar had held his own reasonably well, and didn't mind getting knocked down, but it was a good excuse to pause to rest. He looked over at David, who was looking intimidated. "Got a better idea of how it works yet?"

"Uh… sort of."

"Good. Your turn." Slightly out of breath, he handed his apprentice his own staff.

Connor chuckled and shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. "Maybe I'd better let you attack first, too."

"I still don't see what this has to do with magic…"

"You will. Trust me."

David gave him a skeptical glance, but obediently took a swing at Connor.

"It's about _**survival**_." Connor blocked the first blow without apparent effort. "Come on. You didn't even _mean_ that one."

"Relax, Dave, he's not going to beat you up. Even if you hit him." It seemed like a very big 'if'.

Steeling himself visibly, Dave took a more determined swing, imitating Balthazar's upward strike.

Connor threw the attacking staff wide. "Better… but you still don't mean it." He lunged in suddenly, his staff swishing harmlessly an inch above Dave's head.

"Dude!" He protested, ducking.

"Dave! Concentrate." Balthazar snapped his fingers once, stalking around the circle. "Pretend he's Horvath."

"O-okay…" The boy was still for a moment, then made a much more genuine lunge.

Connor dodged nimbly, parrying, and moved into the rhythm of blocking and dodging. He kept to defense at first, but gradually moved into attacking with his parries. Just as with Balthazar, he pulled every blow, until he sensed Dave was getting a little overconfident, then he landed a sweeping blow against the young man's side. It didn't look full force, but it was still enough to send him staggering.

"Ow! Ow!" Dave protested, more startled than hurt.

Seated now, Balthazar gave a snort. "Don't embarrass me, Dave. You've had worse."

Connor gave a hoarse bark of laughter, panting just a little. He'd fought both of them without a break, but didn't seem ready to throw it in yet. "You'd better learn what to do about it." He aimed a similar blow for Dave's other side, but slower, trying to force a reaction.

Startled, Dave darted to block, and vines emerged from his staff and whipped around Connor's, trapping it.

Balthazar straightened and clapped, delighted. "Excellent! _**That's**_ how it relates to magic."

Connor grunted, trying to tug his staff free. He frowned mildly at Balthazar. "Did you teach him that?"

"No, he's always been good at improvising. Let him go, Dave."

David looked apologetic, and the vines vanished.

"That's it; you're not a beginner anymore." Connor lunged in, on the attack now. It still looked slow, for him.

Wide-eyed, David dodged, blocking and weaving around furniture.

"Good. You're fine, you're doing fine." Balthazar stayed in his seat, watching the fight roam all across the room.

Connor kept coming, relentless and quick, but the blows he landed were fairly light. It was only a matter of time before Dave's magical instincts kicked in. There were flashes of light and minor sparks, then a chair galloped into Connor's way, tangling with his legs. The immortal went down hard, but kicked the living furniture off and rolled to his feet again, looking a little startled.

"Uh… sorry?" Dave looked wary, taking the chance to catch his breath.

"Creative." Balthazar stood to move with them, albeit at a safe distance.

Connor swept the staff at Dave's feet.

The boy jumped gracelessly over the swing, but kept his footing.

Expression calmly determined now, Connor kept coming, pressing the boy hard and only mildly hampered by having to kick away or jump over the attack chair once or twice every minute. A patch of the floor grew soft and squishy under his feet, slowing him down, but in the end Dave went down with a gasp, dropping the staff and holding both his hands up defensively.

Connor's staff came end first at his face, and hit the floor beside his head with a solid thunk. Connor gave a breathless chuckle and leaned on the staff, offering his open right hand out to help the boy up.

"Aah!" The apprentice flailed a little, then caught his breath with relief. After a moment he accepted the hand up.

"That was brilliant." Balthazar was pleased. "I should have filmed it."

Connor hauled Dave up and gave him a few solid thumps on the shoulder, his version of praise, then went down heavily to the attack chair. He must have assumed it would stop when Dave surrendered, but instead the chair flailed over him while he was down. Kicking at it, he cursed in Gaelic, but Balthazar could see he was worn out and had a real fight on his hands this time.

"Dave, call that damn thing off!" Balthazar sputtered, trying not to laugh.

"Sorry! Sorry!" David grabbed the chair and physically pulled it off Connor. It strained and writhed under his hands a moment, then settled back straight and stilled.

Chest heaving, Connor scrambled to his feet, bruised and tired. "Get my damn sword. I'm turning that thing into kindling."

Balthazar lost it at Connor's irritable growl, turning away to cackle into his sleeve.

Ever obedient, Dave scrambled to fetch Connor's sword for him meekly. The immortal made a sideways lunge to clamp a hand on the boy's shoulder to stop him, while scowling at Balthazar. "I'll throw a chair at you sometime, see how_ you_ like it." It wasn't a serious threat, and the sorcerer knew it.

Dave averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh… how about we take a break? I'm thirsty…"

Balthazar recovered a little, still grinning. "Sure, that sounds like a good idea."

"Just let me catch my breath for the second round." Connor looked worn out from fighting them both, and the chair. A few days of solid meals and sleep had done him good, but he still didn't look like a healthy man.

Dave nodded and went upstairs to fetch them some sodas.

Balthazar smiled at Connor. "Thanks. That was helpful."

"He needs a lot of practice…" Connor sank into another chair wearily, eyeing the one that attacked him. He didn't look like he had the strength left for a second round, but the sorcerer could bet he'd try anyway.

"He does. He may never go up against a sword or staff for real, but he should know how in case."

"You want to try him against the sword, too?" Connor rubbed one knee.

"Not today, but it wouldn't hurt." Balthazar got up. "I assume there's no serious damage?"

"What, to me? I'm fine. I can take whatever that little punk can dish out." He smiled, clearly tired.

"Yeah, but the chair was too much for you." The sorcerer grinned, knowing he was asking for it, but Connor would have to get up to smack him.

The immortal aimed a well-placed kick at his shin, instead. Apparently his arms were tired.

Balthazar yelped and staggered, clutching a bruised leg.

David walked in just in time to catch this, carrying three cokes and a package of Oreos. "Um…"

"Heheh. There, now we're even. Mine hurts too." Connor sat back with a satisfied air.

"Is the violence over? Is it safe to come sit down?" Dave took a few steps down hesitantly.

"The violence is over." Recovering, Balthazar gestured him closer and took one of the sodas.

"For now." Connor grinned with just a hint of menace.

Dave handed the immortal a soda, then sat in the attack chair warily. It abruptly fell apart under his slight weight.

Balthazar snickered. "…Too much energy flow. You killed it, Dave!"

Connor threw back his head and laughed, wheezy and weary, but the happiest Balthazar had seen him since he found him again. The lesson had been just the distraction he needed.

After soda and cookies, a snack that he had to admit was nutritionally deficient, Balthazar resumed lessons. He showed Dave split-second transfiguration with wands, changing his own from wood to whip to dagger in fractions of a second. He enlisted Connor for a demonstration in fighting this way, but it was a short run because Balthazar himself was tired. Connor seemed willing to spar as long and as hard as they asked him to, but he was starting to look drained and battered. It was clear he was a harder taskmaster even than Balthazar, and willing to push himself all the harder, but Dave wasn't his student. Balthazar went over some theory with the boy, giving Connor the chance to rest again, and made plans to return for lessons again the next day.

Dave seemed to be growing more comfortable with Connor by the end of things, reassured that the immortal wasn't out to do him any serious harm. Connor followed them up to the elevator and out a little warily, tense and watchful on the street, but Dave gave them a cheerful wave goodbye, and on the car ride home the two friends discussed the finer points of Dave's training, and exchanged a little mild teasing. Sneaking a glance as he drove, Balthazar saw Connor in the passenger seat looking tired, but relaxed and content.


	27. Birthday booze

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Long delay, sorry, the holidays and family medical emergencies (yes, plural) kept me busy. I'll try to get the rest of the chapters up at a reasonable pace._

**Sword and Sorcery **

27. Birthday booze

The ice was broken, but Connor continued to push Dave hard in sparring sessions. He was a demanding and ruthless teacher, but the sorcerer noted Connor was also careful not to injure the boy. No matter how hard he pushed Dave, Connor pushed himself harder, taking them both on and keeping at sparring until he was dragged away. His health didn't seem to be quite up to his own demands, but he talked tough to Dave, and then crashed hard as soon as Balthazar took him home. By the third day, the immortal fell asleep in the car on the way back.

On the weekend, Balthazar and Veronica dragged Connor off on a day trip to a vineyard, sharing lunch at a diner on the way. The break might have been one Connor's body welcomed, but he was quiet and withdrawn outside the sparring sessions. It was a little late when they returned, but there were lights on at the house. Balthazar was relieved to see it, but Connor, ever alert, put a restraining hand on his arm. His expression was tense. "You didn't leave those on…"

Balthazar exchanged an 'I told you so' glance with Veronica. "No, we didn't, but the wards aren't going off, which means it's David." The sorcerer tried to sound reassuring.

"…You're sure of that?" Connor had a protective streak a mile wide, and now it seemed to apply to both of them. He got out of the car and absently opened Veronica's door for her, then moved ahead to get in the house first, just in case.

"Positive. I asked him to drop something off." Veronica smiled easily, but let Connor go in first anyway.

Balthazar tried not to hold his breath.

They found Dave seated at the dining room table with an open book, but he looked up as they entered, smiling nervously. There was a large cake box at his elbow, and several wrapped packages next to it.

Connor hadn't drawn his sword going in, and relaxed when he saw Dave, turning away to hang up his coat, looking mildly embarrassed. He seemed almost not to have noticed the packages, and muttered 'Getting paranoid…" under his breath.

While Balthazar could have argued with the 'getting' part of that statement, he was just relieved the surprise hadn't gone too badly.

"Why don't you sit, Connor." Veronica nudged him towards the table once his coat was gone.

The immortal looked mildly puzzled by the invitation, and sat down warily.

Dave opened up the cake box. "I forgot the candles, sorry." The cake inside was chocolate, with butterscotch icing and a simple Celtic knotwork design in piped frosting.

Veronica leaned down to kiss Connor lightly on the cheek, then sat, and Balthazar placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Happy Birthday."

For a long moment Connor sat in stunned silence, then he started to get up as if to leave, but Balthazar's hand on his shoulder seemed to make him pause. Half out of his chair, he had one hand on Balthazar's arm as if to push him off, but he froze there. His gaze was unfocused, but the face turned in the sorcerer's direction was a war of joy and pain.

"Ssh…" Balthazar murmured, squeezing Connor's shoulder. "I know."

Veronica and David traded a bewildered look, but had the sense to keep quiet.

The hand on Balthazar's arm gripped tight, and Connor shut his eyes. Slowly, he sank back down into his seat at an angle, still turned toward the sorcerer. His voice croaked out as if in answer to John's question so many years ago. "Four-hundred ninety-three."

Balthazar signaled silently to his wife and apprentice, and they both slipped away to the kitchen to get food and drink, and give the old friends a moment alone. Once they were gone, he pulled Connor into a hug.

Shaking slightly, Connor leaned on him while he pulled himself together again. After a moment he sat up again, carefully, then smacked Balthazar on the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell?" Balthazar rubbed his head, rocking back on his heels.

Connor rubbed at his eyes, still looking a little shaky. "That's a dirty trick. You knew it would… you _**knew**_." He scowled, almost tearfully, and looked at Balthazar with a stormy mix of emotions. "Apologize." The last was a growl.

"It has to hurt if it's going to heal. You can hit me again if it will make you feel better, but I won't say I'm sorry for doing my best by you." Balthazar met his gaze soberly. He'd been more startled than actually hurt.

Connor scowled back, brooding over his words, then hugged him again. This time it was a long rib-cracker, and Balthazar knew he was forgiven.

"Oof!" He hugged back, relieved. "…I love you, too." After a moment he backed off, smiling. "I'll let you have a beer, though. And there's Chinese food."

"You'd damn well better let me have a beer. It's my birthday!" The smile Connor gave him was a little watery, still, but he seemed to be recovering.

He chuckled gently. "Right. I'll go help out in the kitchen. Be right back." He left Connor gazing at the cake, and went to help heat up the food. Veronica brought out drinks, while Balthazar and Dave followed with plates and condiments, and chopsticks.

It seemed to take Connor an effort to pull himself back to the present, and the first thing the immortal reached for was the beer, but the first gulp seemed to help him recover. Once they were all seated he said quietly, "Grefm-Thank you." The near-slip into Gaelic seemed accidental.

"You're welcome." Veronica smiled.

"So… we're cool, then?" Dave seemed to want to make sure he wasn't about to get smacked.

Connor blinked at the boy, his gaze unusually muddled, but answered slowly, "Of course. Balthazar's the only one in trouble." A faint smile crept in.

"Oh, well, awesome." Dave grinned back.

Balthazar chuckled softly and helped himself to an eggroll.

Connor's appetite seemed dampened, and his gaze kept going distant, but he was clearly making an effort to eat a reasonable amount. He said next to nothing through the meal. Trying to be reassuring, Balthazar did not press for conversation, but Veronica and Dave chatted cheerfully to make up for the quiet. They fell silent only as Balthazar cleared off the table.

After a few minutes of awkward quiet, Dave pushed a small package toward Connor. "From me and Becky."

"You didn't have to… you barely _know_ me…" Connor's voice was very hoarse, and he was slow to take the gift and open it, a faint tremor in his hands.

"It's not a big deal. It's a thank you for not kicking my ass gift." Dave grinned awkwardly.

"Isn't that premature?" The immortal cracked a weak smile, as the wrapping fell away to reveal a cheap mp3 player, the package already opened.

"Aheh. Maybe. We loaded it already, Becky picked most of the music." Dave was quick to explain. "She does a radio show…"

Connor picked it up uncertainly. " I've… _seen_ these… oh god, **now** I feel old." He looked sheepish. "I just haven't had much time to catch up with technology." After ten years in a coma and another five homeless, he had every excuse not to.

Dave leaned over and spent a few minutes explaining the little device, showing him how it worked, but Connor seemed quick to pick up on it. It was apparent Connor was relatively capable with the basics of computers, and he seemed bemused by the music on it.

"You can download stuff, too. Balthazar's got a computer."

"Mm, we'll check that out later." Balthazar smiled, offering Connor another package.

"I wouldn't mind getting some Queen and U2 back…" Connor mused quietly, moving onto the next package and still looking sheepish over having gifts at all.

"I think she put 'One' on there, and 'Bohemian Rhapsody'."

In the remaining packages, Connor unwrapped two antique books of Arthurian mythology, a pair of nice leather gloves, and a finely wrought figure of an eagle. From Veronica there was a package of handkerchiefs, hand embroidered by her, and almost too beautiful to be used. Connor tried the gloves on for fit, gently smoothed and refolded the handkerchiefs, admired the little eagle and looked at the frontispieces of the books. "Did you go through and correct things?" He smirked at Balthazar, but looked deeply touched, handling each item with reverence.

"No, you'll just have to ask questions as you read." Balthazar smiled back.

"Are we ready for cake?" Veronica asked. "There's ice cream, too."

Connor stroked the little metal eagle, avoiding all their eyes. "I don't know why you're all being so kind to me. I'm not a nice person. But thank you." His voice had gone hoarse again.

Balthazar patted his shoulder wordlessly, the gesture warm.

"You're welcome." Veronica said softly, giving them both a warm smile.

Dave fidgeted awkwardly. "I dunno. Nice is overrated?" Balthazar wondered idly if Dave's statement was meant for himself, too.

Connor shrugged slightly. "In the Game, nice can get you killed."

They moved to the living room, where Veronica and Dave served ice cream and cake, and they fell into talking about modern music for a while. Connor's tastes seemed to run towards classic rock, and the casual conversation kept him distracted enough to finish his ice cream and cake, although he commented that it seemed a shame to cut into it.

After dessert, Dave confirmed his next lesson with Balthazar, and headed out. The sorcerer watched Connor sink back in his chair with a very quiet sigh, revealing some of the tension he was unwilling to show around the boy. He could imagine the evening was both happy and psychologically draining.

Veronica cleaned away the wrapping paper, then deposited two glasses and a bottle of old scotch in front of the men, smiling. "I'm going to go study. I'm joining you next time, though."

Smiling weakly, but gratefully, Connor said, "They don't make many like you."

She laughed, pleased. "Likewise, Connor." She mussed his hair and swept off quietly.

"There's a reason Horvath and I fought over her." Balthazar smiled wryly and poured the whiskey.

Connor nodded, but his smile was fading. "You're very lucky…" His voice carried a far away tone, but surprisingly little jealousy. He seemed to like Veronica, but Balthazar suspected she inspired the same feelings in Connor that Rachel had prompted in him, a kind of brotherly affection and intense protectiveness.

"I know." Balthazar sipped his scotch and let Connor sit silent a while, then said carefully, "Can you handle one more thing? I want to show you something, but it might hurt. It can wait, too."

Connor held his scotch for a long moment before drinking, staring into space, but he focused at Balthazar's words with a frown. "How drunk do you want me for it?"

"Well, you need to be able to read, but if you want to get smashed afterward, that's fine."

He gave a grunt and took a good gulp of whiskey. "All right…"

Balthazar rose and vanished into his study for a moment, returning with a large folder. Within it were receipts from five different organizations, accompanied by photos and thank-you letters. They dated from 1996 to 2000, and then again for the current year, 2011. He'd made donations in the names of Brenda, Rachel, John, Alex, and even Jack Donovan. Brenda's went to the local food bank, Rachel's to a foster parenting organization, John's to a baseball camp for underprivileged children, and Alex and Jack's to museums. The donations were annual, around Connor's birthday, the most recent ones barely a week old. "I wanted you to know I didn't forget, either." Balthazar said quietly, watching his friend.

Connor frowned at first, as if trying to hide the sting of seeing the familiar names, but as he turned through the pieces of paper his hands began to shake. He set it on the table, possibly to keep from dropping it, and licked his lips. Connor's voice came as a hoarse whisper. "They… would have appreciated it."

Nodding, Balthazar rested a hand on his back tentatively. After a minute it was obvious Connor wasn't even looking at the folder anymore, just staring into space, so he teleported it gently back to its place inside the desk.

Under his hand Connor took a slow breath, voice still very quiet. "Sometimes… I forget, out there, headhunting. I think I'm just out to take care of this one bastard, and then I'm going back home… and then when it's over I remember there _is_ no home…"

"Let home be here?" Balthazar suggested softly. "With us?"

"I can't stay here and be in your way. I should go. There's still plenty of bad immortals out there for me to take down, and it keeps me… useful." It seemed more likely it was a distraction to keep him from having to think about anything else.

"I thought we'd gotten past this. I want you here. **We** want you here. You're not in the way, and you are being useful. The weapons training- it's not my specialty anymore, and it'll give Dave an edge he may need."

"…I assumed you didn't mean permanently. You've still got time to start a family." He was bracing his shoulders subtly, growing tense. Connor sounded conflicted though, unsure if he wanted to stay or go more. He rubbed at his face.

"You **are** family." There was quiet passion in his voice, but after a moment he backed off to give Connor space. "…You don't have to decide tonight, or any time soon. Just… keep it in mind."

"You _know_ what I meant!" Connor snapped irritably, then subsided and rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. Reaching for his glass again, he emptied it in a couple of swallows and shakily poured more.

Privately Balthazar was a little stung, but he shrugged it off, still sipping his own scotch and watching the immortal. Connor had saved him, when he'd been nearly ready to give up. He wanted to return the favor, no matter how prickly and defensive Connor might be about it.

"It's… hard, to be here. Was it like this for you? Fighting to stay in the room instead of the memories? Waking up every morning not sure what reality is?" It was unexpectedly empathetic of him, and Connor's voice had gone soft again, a quiet plea.

"…Not recently, but I've been there." Balthazar felt his own gaze going a little distant.

"What did you do? How did you keep from… I'm afraid I'll wake up and I won't know where I am at all. It's happened before." He drank, hands trembling. "I'm afraid I'll be a danger to you. Not drawing hunters, I mean, **Me**. I know my head's not right… I didn't come here for my birthday, I came here because it's close to the anniversary of when…" He faltered and closed his eyes. "When I fought Jacob Kell."

"I lived in a cave," Balthazar said quietly. "Alone, for almost thirty years, while I pieced myself back together." It took him a moment to focus, then he said softly, "I'm watching you, Connor. I wouldn't let you hurt any of us, because I know what that would do to you. Do you… need to talk about Kell?"

Connor gave an unsteady chuckle. "Caves are hard to come by, now, but…" He shook his head. "I don't want to, but you've probably got questions… and there's plenty of whiskey left still."

"Not in the Andes." Balthazar swallowed hard, haunted by the shadow of memory. "But I don't really recommend it." He shook his head. "I can ask questions another time." He was starting to feel the scotch, and the weight of darker times suddenly brought to the fore of his mind.

"I might not answer them another time." Connor said seriously.

Balthazar drained his cup slowly and refilled it, then shook his head and finally spoke again. "I can't. I'm… sorry."

Connor gave a shaky sigh, holding his own glass against his forehead between swallows. Between the two of them, the sorcerer was sure, they must make a miserable picture. "I… don't know what Duncan told you," Connor spoke slowly, as if it took great effort. "But Jacob… was a clansman. A MacLeod. We grew up together."

He made a very soft noise in the back of his throat, and even Balthazar himself was unsure if it was protest or simply acknowledgment. He watched Connor with half-lidded eyes, dreading whatever might come next. This had been a bad idea, and he wasn't up to dealing with whatever horrors Connor might be about to unveil.

Connor kept his eyes closed, but Balthazar could see them roving beneath the closed lids, as if he were dreaming. "And I killed him. I'm the one that cursed him to immortality. I'm a _kinslayer_," the word carried all the acid most people reserved for things like rapists. In a clan-based society, Balthazar knew, it was something like the ultimate sin. "And _**I**_ started the cycle. It's… my… fault. Every death… he struck, was because of me." He was shaking badly by then and his glass, mostly empty, slipped out of a nerveless grip and bounced on the carpet.

Feeling suddenly very ill, Balthazar didn't move to pick it up. Was what he'd done to Horvath any better? He'd spent over a thousand years wondering if every act of evil his old friend committed wasn't, in a way, _his_ fault. Balthazar closed his eyes tight for a long moment, taking a few calming breaths and forcing his shoulders to relax. Putting his glass down, he reached out and gripped Connor's upper arms hard, not caring if the grip was even painful. "You didn't kill them, Connor. It's not. Your. Fault." His voice was raw, and he punctuated each of the last few words with a slight shake.

Connor's eyes flew open at the touch, and what was behind them shifted rapidly, first the expected storm of grief and guilt, then a snap to blank confusion, and a slow struggle to return from that state. It was as if his mind had briefly overloaded and gone blank in self defense. It seemed to take him a long time to recover, but when he did he gripped Balthazar's arms in return and searched his face anxiously.

Balthazar felt much like Connor looked, his expression a thin veneer of calm over a storm of anguished horror. He met the grey gaze for a long moment and struggled to speak, but nothing came out.

Throat working soundlessly, Connor seemed to match the struggle for a long moment, than cautiously rested his forehead against Balthazar's and croaked out, "I won't go hide in a cave if you won't… but I still don't like you paying such a high price for having me here."

His eyes fell shut. "You're worth it. Believe that."

Connor took a few shaky breaths, still trying to compose himself. At least they were a mess together. "I… told you… because I trust you to judge me. But… I can also listen. Without judgment."

One moment he was impossible, and exactly what he needed the next. Balthazar's hands slowly unclenched from his arms, and he lifted one to touch the back of Connor's neck once, then dropped it. Connor always seemed to carry tension there, and he was tense still. "I meant it. You're not to blame."

There was a slight shiver at the touch on his neck, but it was hard to say if that was good or bad. Connor kept his own grip on Balthazar, but it was gentle and warm, not the desperate clutch he'd held Connor in.

For a long moment the sorcerer was quiet, eyes still closed and trying to compose himself. It would be hard to tell the story, yet not allow himself to be swamped by the memory of it. "I had five students during the Spanish Inquisition, all girls. I thought I could protect them. I couldn't. Horvath gave us away. The arrests came all at once. If I had known they were after more than just me, I would never have let my ring be taken. They killed one girl during the arrests. Another swallowed her ring rather than let it be taken; she managed to escape. The rest of us… I was broken on the wheel. They tortured the others to death in front of me." Balthazar shuddered, and added in a small, choked voice, "Sometimes I can still hear them screaming."

"You think because you gave up your ring it was your fault?" Connor's voice was hoarse, but steady compared to Balthazar's. "The Inquisition tried to make the whole world guilty. I was only lucky it never truly reached so far North." Balthazar had no doubt it had influenced Connor's own banishment for coming back from the dead, but certainly that could have gone worse. "I never… I heard how they got inside people's heads…" Connor paused, as if something in his own words nagged at him, then dismissed it and went on. "They must have got in yours, too."

It went much deeper, and further back, than that. "Horvath." He said quietly. "We were friends once. He wanted Veronica as much as I did. Maybe more. For centuries we tried to keep a balance, but it fell apart. She loves _me_. He was so angry. It was why he betrayed Merlin, why everything fell apart. He was like a brother, once."

Connor closed his eyes again a moment, looking pained, and nodded. "That's… not anyone's fault, but… does _she_ think it is?"

"We don't talk about it. I don't want her to know… all the things he did over the years. I want her to be able to think of him as… not completely evil."

Connor scowled. "So you don't know if she's walking around with a big stone of guilt around her neck, too?" It was strikingly perceptive, even if the metaphor was muddled.

Reaching weakly for his glass, Balthazar could only shake his head.

There was a quiet pause, and Connor let him go gently to pick up his own dropped glass, murmuring, "I'm sorry…"

"What for?" He swayed a little, suddenly free of Connor's grasp.

"Wasting good whiskey on your carpet." He sighed, tone steady and far more sober than Balthazar felt. "I know I said no judgment, but… _**you**_ didn't do anything _to_ Horvath. It's not your fault…"

Balthazar drained his glass, shook his head, and gave Connor a weak but affectionate smile.

Fetching the bottle, Connor refilled both their glasses and eyed the sorcerer warily. Balthazar could _see_ his search for words. "I never met him, but it sounds like he's badly in need of a really good lay."

Balthazar stared. It was the most ridiculously crude, tactless, insensitive thing he could possibly imagine anyone saying. But that was Connor. He was probably trying to lighten the mood. He found his voice, and heard it saying very weakly, "I'll… tell him that the next time I see him."

Connor seemed to be watching his reaction, and it wasn't lost on him that the joke had failed. He sighed and took a healthy gulp of scotch. "I'm sorry. I'm not as good at this as you are."

Balthazar leaned over until his shoulder bumped Connor's. "You're all right."

"I don't think either of us is," The immortal smiled weakly. "but that's what scotch is for."

"Cheers." Balthazar gave him a genuine smile and clinked glasses. Over the course of the next hour, he drank to equal or surpass Connor, who never seemed satisfied until the bottle was empty. The world swirled and lurched sickeningly when the immortal helped him up the stairs, and saw him all the way to his bed.


	28. Past in the Present

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Up until now I've pretty much kept the story from Balthazar's perspective, so I apologize for the stylistic break, but things that happen when he's out of the room are pretty important, too…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

28. Past in the Present

Some time in the middle of the night, Connor had returned downstairs to collect his gifts, but he seemed content to quietly snore his way through half the morning. By the time he made his way to the kitchen, Veronica was there mixing a hangover remedy for Balthazar, who was still in bed. "You two hit it pretty hard last night." She smiled gently, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes.

Connor shrugged, going for coffee, but he didn't look hung over. He never did, although he certainly drank often enough to deserve it. Sitting at the table with his cup, he watched her hands as she worked. "Sometimes that's all you can do. Is he all right?" Obviously the scotch hadn't completely obliterated his memory of the conversation the night before, and he was quiet and serious in the wake of it.

"I don't know. He had me cancel the lesson with David today, but he says it's just the hangover."

He looked uneasy, then. "I… offered to leave, and he didn't like it, but I don't want to wear out my welcome. I've never been easy to live with, I know that, and now…" He rubbed the back of his neck, hunched over his coffee. "I told him some things, and it brought up bad memories for him, and then I said- well. I don't say the right things." It was possibly the longest speech she'd ever heard him make in one go.

"He doesn't tell me much, you know," She said carefully. "About what he went through these past centuries. He says he can bear his own burdens, but I worry. If he's at least _talking_ to you…"

Veronica sat down next to him. "Please don't go. I've never seen him this devoted to anyone except me." She looked sheepish briefly, then sobered. "We're all broken, you know. All three of us. We need each other."

Connor looked down at his coffee, possibly to avoid looking at her. "I suggested you might be…"

"Be what? Worried?"

He shook his head. Connor needed a haircut and a shave, and the gesture made him look like a shaggy animal. "…Carrying the weight of the past. Hurt."

She was quiet a long moment, considering her words, then said slowly, "We never meant to hurt Maxim. But we thought he'd understand. He was like an older brother to us both. I never wanted to come between them."

Connor's hands tightened around the cup. On the morning after his birthday, he looked like he was feeling very old. "Guilt… is like a stone, and if you get in deep water it'll drown you." He swallowed and took a breath, eyes closed and expression grim while he struggled with the analogy. "But even stones can be worn down, especially by other stones…" He finished his coffee quickly in a few long gulps and set down the cup. "I'm going out for a walk."

The metaphor was a little bewildering, and Veronica wasn't sure how to take the sudden shift. She stood to stop him, placing a hand on his arm. "Please-" The rest of the words died on her lips, and she sighed, letting go. "Don't be long?"

He patted her hand and smiled weakly. "Just a walk. Really. Why doesn't anyone ever believe me about that? I _like_ to walk."

She managed to smile back. "…Okay. Have fun, then." Veronica turned back to the counter, and the remedy Balthazar was waiting upstairs for.

"Tell Balthazar… I hope he feels better." Connor added lamely, and collected his coat and sword, and his new gloves. If she was worried about him running out, his other gifts and his car were still there, but he was gone for almost three hours.

When he returned there was lunch laid out for him, but both sorcerers were upstairs. Unsettled, he only picked at the food they'd left him before tidying up, then practiced sword katas in the guest room. When he heard someone going downstairs he poked his head out briefly, only to glimpse Veronica alone, looking sad and thoughtful. Connor showered, then, and wandered downstairs aimlessly, but didn't ask her what might have happened in his absence. In fact, he seemed to be doing his very best to keep out of her way, silent and thoughtful. Veronica didn't seek him out, but she was distracted rather than upset.

It wasn't until dinnertime that Balthazar came downstairs, but he made a point of looking for Connor right away. The immortal had found the most out-of-the-way corner chair in the house and was curled up in it, legs drawn up like a child. He was reading one of the books Balthazar had given him, but so near the beginning, Balthazar wondered if he was actually reading or simply staring at the page. He made a beeline for the chair nearest by Connor and sat, watching Connor curl up a little more, as if he were expecting a lashing. Balthazar knew he was moving slow and stiff as an old man, which he _was_, but he smiled gently at Connor and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Sorry. It's okay. I'm all right."

"…Sure." Connor's gaze flickered over the sorcerer briefly, overtop his book, wary and skeptical.

He sniffed and moved away a little. "Just quit skulking around like you think I'm going to beat you."

There was a subtle flinch, and Connor frowned down at the book, eyes swimming with memory for a moment. "I probably deserve it. I'm the one that set you off last night." He uncurled, though, barefoot and limber as a boy. Balthazar envied him. "You should try it sometime. It's not like I can't take it, and it might make you feel better."

He sighed and looked over his shoulder at Connor. "Hurting people doesn't do it for me. You have no idea how to respond to being loved, do you? Is that new, or were you always like this?"

Connor opened and closed his mouth once, frowning, then rubbed one shoulder and curled up again. "I don't even know what you mean." It was a defensive growl, but there wasn't much force behind it, and Balthazar hadn't been really expecting an answer anyway.

"If you _**never **_stop pushing us away, we'll _**still**_ keep trying. But I'm too tired tonight." He watched Connor a moment, then shook his head. "I need to start on dinner."

Connor closed his book, one hand still curled up around his own shoulder. "…Want help?"

"Yeah, okay." Apology was implied, and Balthazar smiled weakly, beckoning him to the kitchen.

Things were awkward for the next few days, but Balthazar was quick to recover physically, and he and Veronica remained warm and friendly toward Connor. The immortal was a little withdrawn and distant, but more than that, he seemed to be trying to be careful. As nice as they were, he behaved as if he were on thin ice. On days there were no sparring lessons with Dave, he went on walks that lasted hours. When Balthazar went out on errands, though, Connor stayed with Veronica. He knew it was his way of being protective, instead of any ulterior motives. Veronica told him when he was gone Connor paced through the house, or practiced sword kata.

One day, toward the end of February, Balthazar went without him to buy magical supplies, and didn't return when he'd said he would. Connor paced all the more, while Veronica ran the radio hoping for soothing background noise. She was worried, too. It didn't help when a news report came on the radio about some sort of nerve gas attack on the subway.

At roughly the same time, the doorbell rang, and Connor lunged for it.

There was no one there, but a heart-shaped box on the front step. Veronica came up behind Connor and peered at the box uncertainly.

The immortal's eyes narrowed and he blocked her from reaching it, peering up and down the block, but there was no one there.

"Connor…" She protested mildly.

"He's late. He'd send… a note. Or a bird." Connor was bristling with paranoia, although that wasn't unusual, for him.

Annoyed, Veronica shoved past under his arm to pick up the box.

He reached out to grip her arm hard. "Please? In case? Let me…" There was a desperate, wild anxiety in his eyes. She'd already heard the story of Rachel's death from a bomb, which might have been triggered by something as innocent as a phone call.

Blinking at him, she handed the box over slowly.

Connor took a step back with it before he opened it, but inside was only a note, Balthazar's ring, and a spatter of blood. The note was addressed to Veronica.

Cursing in Gaelic, Connor opened the note, too, but only long enough to make sure there wasn't some sort of magical booby trap attached. He handed it to Veronica to read first, but he looked ready to kill without even knowing the contents.

Veronica's eyes widened as she saw the ring, but she read the note silently, then handed it back to Connor. It bore an address in Manhattan, followed by the words; '_Bring the boy, won't you my dear? I'd like Balthazar to watch him die. Regards, Maxim Horvath'_.

"Is there any good reason I can't go kill him?" Connor snarled.

"Aside from the fact that it's obviously a trap?" She countered.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot! Aside from that, yes."

"Balthazar's always been a match for Maxim. If he got the best of him, if he thinks he can take on David and me… he's found help of some sort."

"So have you." He met her eyes, determined.

"Connor… have you ever fought a wizard? One on a level with Balthazar?"

"…Not sure." He gave an aggravated sigh. "But Balthazar says you're better than he is."

She blushed. "…That's… debatable." For a moment she was silent, thinking furiously, then murmured, "All right. I'll call David, then we'll go."

He nodded, and offered her Balthazar's ring.

Veronica held it tightly in both hands for a minute, then slid it into her pocket and went inside to call the Prime Merlinian.


	29. Final End to Friendship

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Up until now I've pretty much kept the story from Balthazar's perspective, so I apologize for the stylistic break, but things that happen when he's out of the room are pretty important, too…_

**Sword and Sorcery **

29. Final end to Friendship

It didn't take Dave long to reach the Blake home, and when he read the note, his expression fell into grim lines. "We have to kill him this time."

Connor was pacing again, restless and radiating tension. "Someone does."

"I think David and I should go in," Veronica said quietly. "Like he expects. You can cover us, and get us out once we know his game."

Connor looked ready to protest, but hesitated when he met Veronica's eyes. His words came out as a whispered plea, instead. "But you're all so… fragile…"

She placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "Do you have a better plan?"

"…None you'd like." He sighed in clear defeat.

"All right then." She smirked slightly. "You drive."

"My car, or his?" The answer seemed obvious. Connor's junker hadn't been used much since his arrival, and looked untrustworthy. It was only luck Balthazar had taken the subway that day.

The keys were pulled off the rack by the door and handed over wordlessly, and Dave tagged after them meekly. It seemed obvious who was in charge of this rescue operation, and it wasn't either of the boys. New York was familiar, even though Connor's more recent exposure was limited; he took them to the address as swiftly as was safe and parked the Rolls Royce a block up the street. The building was an old paper factory, the machinery that showed through the windows broken down, rusted hulks. Connor eyed it thoughtfully. "I don't know how magic senses work, but if you want me to keep out of sight, there should be plenty of cover."

"Hang back," Veronica ordered softly, "But don't worry about magical senses. He'll be focused on us."

"Anything else I should know?" Connor slipped out of the car and got the door for her.

"Watch out for statues." Dave muttered, recalling the bull that had once attacked Balthazar outside Battery Park.

Connor raised an eyebrow, but his own thoughts went back to a bronze owl in Nash Antiques. "Go on, then." He sighed, waiting to shadow them and hoping the dark brown wool coat and his general scruffiness might help him blend into the background.

They weren't far in when they began to hear Balthazar's voice, raised in cries and groans of pain. Dave shuddered, and Veronica clamped a hand on his shoulder to steady him. The two sorcerers circled the main floor and followed the noises down stairs.

Connor stalked in the shadows nearby, resolve tempered by the sounds. The abandoned machinery provided ample places to hide, even as he started warily down a different set of stairs.

There were candles lit and scattered about on the floor below. Balthazar lay on his back in a magical circle, shirtless and twisted into an unnatural pose. He was blood-splattered and smoke or steam rose from him, but it was hard to tell precisely what sort of torturous magic was at work.

Off to one side stood Horvath, tall, heavily built, and well dressed. The tip of his cane glowed blue with the power at work, but he turned with narrowed eyes as the other two sorcerers approached. "Ah. So glad you could make it!" He held out his arms in a gesture of welcome, smiling coldly.

"N…no…" Balthazar wheezed, struggling.

Keeping well back, Connor circled and kept a lookout for traps, allies, and an advantageous position. He took great care to keep hidden, although the sorcerers seemed focused on each other.

"Let him go, Maxim." Veronica held out her ring hand threateningly. "It's over. Morgana's gone. Live out your life and let us be."

Horvath tapped his chin with his cane. "Veronica. Darling. You think Morgana didn't have contingency plans? One spell, one shot, that's it?"

"What are you talking about?" Dave bristled.

"Ah, yes. You." There was a sudden surge of energy, sending the apprentice flying back to be pinned up against the wall. A shield blazed blue around him, against the pressure of Horvath's magic.

"Maxim, stop it! We both know what this is about, and it's not Morgana." Veronica blazed with light, and Dave managed to push away from the wall. Together they stalked towards Horvath slowly.

"Perhaps not," He smiled evenly. "Shall we sit down? Have a heart to heart? Maybe you can turn me around." He gestured at Balthazar, and in the circle he screamed and there was a spray of blood. "Too late. I'm not the man I once was. Neither is Balthazar, as I'm surprised you've not discovered yet."

The scream halted Veronica's advance, and her eyes flashed with worry to Balthazar's prone body in the chalk circle.

Dave crouched slightly, watching, then made a sudden lunge to break the circle.

At a tap of the cane on the floor, spikes surged upwards from the cement, nearly impaling the young apprentice.

It was the spray of blood that broke Connor's patience, but Dave's lunge was a convenient distraction. He leapt from hiding, drawing the katana as he went, and aimed a thrust for the back of Horvath's right shoulder. Fast and nearly silent, he crossed the distance in a few bounds.

Horvath turned at the last second, but not quick enough to avoid the attack. Gasping in pain, he dropped the staff from suddenly nerveless fingers, and Veronica lunged in to snatch up the dropped implement.

Dave staggered back, bleeding from the spikes.

"Get him away!" Momentarily taking charge, Connor called out and gave a nod in Balthazar's direction, alarm clear in his voice. The blade had gone deep, and he was vulnerable to a close attack as long as he was beside Horvath.

"David!" Veronica's cry was an order, and the boy nodded, dodging around the spikes and rubbing out the circle hurriedly.

Balthazar went limp, gasping and trembling.

As he yelled in pain and anger, Horvath's new collection of rings glowed with a burst of power that finished the job of wrenching the blade free, and sent Connor back to slam against a hulking wreck of machinery.

The immortal kept a death-grip on his katana, but slid down to sprawl on the floor for a moment, breathless from the blow. He was moving again in seconds, on his feet while his injuries were still healing.

Horvath chuckled painfully. "I see Balthazar's made a **friend**. How sweet. The healing ability your kind possesses is so useful- as long as it works." His rings continued to glow, as Connor's injuries stopped closing and the edges began to burn and expand gradually.

Dave struggled with his teacher, dragging Balthazar carefully out of the circle, then levitating him gently.

Connor grunted and staggered a step or two, but kept coming, the intense gaze dark with malice. Immortals were used to fighting through injuries, and his relentless attack was buying time for Balthazar's rescue. He made a lunge that had momentum if not grace, but fetched up against a magical shield.

Looking quietly smug, Horvath clutched his wounded shoulder.

Veronica was torn, running to make a quick examination of Balthazar, then pushing Dave toward the exit. "Go. Get him to the car." As apprentice and levitating master fled, she turned back to Horvath. "Maxim!"

"In a moment, my dear."

Connor made a few slashes against the glowing shield, then dropped abruptly to make a vicious cut at Horvath's ankles, hoping to get under the edge of it.

"Maxim, you turn and face me now or I'll kill you with your back turned like the coward you are." There was quiet rage in her voice.

Staggering under the slash but managing to escape serious injury, Horvath fired a plasma bolt directly at Connor's head, then turned to Veronica with a raised eyebrow.

At close range, the sheer impact of the plasma bolt sent Connor backwards, head first. His legs were flung out from under him and he skidded flat on his back across the floor more than a dozen feet. He gave a gurgling gasp and fought through the shock, but seemed to be down for the moment.

Veronica gave Horvath no time to survey the result of his handiwork, but launched into magical attack. The flurry of exchanged spells between them was blinding and flung them both around the room. Power crackled over rusting machinery and arced across the cement floor. After a few minutes of magical chaos, Horvath skidded to a stop on the floor near the fallen Connor.

On her side on the floor, halfway across the room, Veronica wheezed for breath.

Rolling to hands and feet, Connor groped for the katana that had finally left his grip at the end of his earlier slide. Veronica's current state was worrying, but the opportunity to stop Horvath was too much to miss. The blade rose as Connor got to one knee, and he made a downward stroke that was ingrained into his arms over centuries. The blade bit slightly into the concrete below, but the only result of decapitating Horvath was that the slow expansion of his wounds ceased and began to reverse. His arm vibrated slightly from the impact with cement.

Slowly, Veronica struggled to her feet. "Is he…?"

The immortal leaned forward, grabbing at Horvath's hand, and viciously tugged off the extra rings. "Esh." He turned his head briefly, and spat out a couple of teeth. His face was bruised and burned, one eye swollen shut, nose and cheekbone broken.

"…You look like hell." She leaned against a machine and held her side, grimacing from broken ribs. "You'll recover?"

Connor gave a raspy, gurgling chuckle, coughed, and wheezed. "Had worsh." Struggling to his feet, he wiped the blade on Horvath's coat, then tucked it away and came to Veronica's aid. He was unsteady on his feet, broken and bleeding inside, but healing and striving to ignore it.

"I can walk. Just a couple ribs." She was tougher than she looked. "…Balthazar." Turning, she headed up the stairs as quickly as she could manage, Connor slower but trailing after.

Dave was kneeling next to Balthazar, hands on his chest. The apprentice himself was badly scratched up, but clearly more focused on his mentor, who was conscious but grey-faced. Breathlessly, Dave explained, "He's stopped breathing twice… his heartbeat's all over the place. I don't know."

"He's lost a lot of blood." Veronica said, kneeling painfully beside them.

Connor staggered up a short ways behind her, face looking like a train wreck.

Dave glanced up at the immortal and looked alarmed. "Dude! You… uh. Never mind." He turned his attention back to Balthazar.

"Plashma bolt. Fashe." Connor dropped in a crouch by the sorcerer, struggling a little to speak clearly. "Can you…" One hand waved in a vague gesture, "Transhfer magically? Blood?"

"Ow." Dave winced in sympathy.

Veronica stroked Balthazar's face, and his eyes drifted closed. "He's been through too much to die like this." Her lips pressed in a thin line, and she pulled his ring from her pocket and slid it gently back on his finger before answering Connor. "Not without equipment. I'm going to take him home. You two bring the car. Once you're fit to drive."

Connor wordlessly offered her the rings he took off Horvath, nodding grimly.

She accepted, eyeing them. "Four of these came from other sorcerers. Busy man." She pocketed them, then her own ring glowed and with a gesture she and Balthazar vanished.

Dave stood unsteadily, scratched and bruised, but not seriously injured. He looked at Connor, still crouched on the ground. "Um. You want me to drive, man?"

Connor nodded, but took a moment to feel himself over for anything healing misaligned. The assessment finished at his face, and he leaned forward, then reset his nose with a wet grunt. For a moment he sat there gasping while fresh blood poured, then he rummaged in his coat pocket and wordlessly offered the keys.

"Ngh!" Appalled, Dave turned a slightly sickly shade, accepted the keys gingerly, and scuttled off to bring the car closer.

Connor pulled out a handkerchief, but it was one of the ones Veronica had embroidered. Rather than ruin it with blood, he put it back and mopped his face gingerly with his coat sleeve instead. The blood was already slowing to a trickle, anyway. He staggered to his feet as the Rolls Royce pulled up close, and collapsed gratefully into the passenger seat, head tilted back.

* * *

_Yes, of course Balthazar will live. I'm not that sadistic._


	30. Fortress of the Mind

_**Disclaimer:**__ Connor MacLeod and all 'Highlander' characters are copyright Davis/Panzer Productions, and Balthazar Blake and all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' characters are copyright Disney. This fanfic is based off a lengthy Role-Play, heavily edited for added narrative. No profit made, but a hell of a lot of fun. Being an RP, this is effectively co-written by my girlfriend, who played Balthazar._

_Apologies for some necessary perspective shift, because getting back into Balthazar's head while he's unconscious makes for tricky writing. Also I realize this is by far more surreal than anything else in this story thus far. If you like it, there's more ahead, if you don't… hang on, because it's temporary and there's some good adventuring still ahead for our characters._

**Sword and Sorcery **

30. Fortress of the Mind

Except for Dave swearing quietly at traffic, it was a quiet drive back to the house. Connor seemed almost to be asleep for the ride, but he was first out of the car. Together they hurried into the house, and found Veronica on the couch cradling Balthazar's head in her lap. He was very pale, but breathing deeply, as if asleep.

"Is he…?" Dave looked deeply distressed.

"He's out of danger, but… he won't recover quickly." Veronica kept her voice low.

Face still bruised and bloody, but on the mend, Connor shadowed the apprentice. He eyed Balthazar with worry. "_Would_ ssome… magical transfusion help?" He spoke slowly, as if it still took effort.

"It might…" She stroked Balthazar's forehead gently.

Dave kneeled on the floor next to the couch stiffly.

"Then do it." Connor spread his arms a little. "I have life to spare. Let me help him somehow?" His voice was quiet and calm, but a hint of desperate frustration lay beneath.

"You already have, Connor." Veronica gave him a weary smile, but nodded. "David, get Balthazar's carpetbag."

The boy nodded eagerly and got up, rushing off to the study.

Connor gave a vague grunt and went to hang up his coat, sword, bloodstains and all.

When Dave returned, Veronica hesitated. "This might be better done in the bed."

"I can levitate him up." Dave volunteered, anxious to be useful.

Connor appeared to still be aching from the fight, and made no protest. It was enough to get himself up the stairs.

Getting the unconscious sorcerer upstairs was a painstaking process, but they settled his limp body in his own bed.

"You'd better lie down, too, Connor. You may pass out." Veronica warned.

The immortal eyed the double bed uncertainly. There was room enough, but Veronica was still moving stiffly with cracked ribs. "I… can lie on the floor."

"For the next eight hours?" She raised an eyebrow. "This may take time."

He shrugged, stiffly lowering himself to the carpet beside the bed. "You'll want to be beside him, later. Don't break off if I pass out?" Connor gave her a warning look from the eye that wasn't swollen shut. "Don't break off if I die. I'll come back."

She hesitated, "Maybe this isn't the best idea…"

Connor sighed. "It doesn't mean to me what it means to you." He gave a brief and very painful smirk as he lay back. "I was _expecting_ to die at least once tonight."

"That's not what… never mind." She sighed and pulled out a silver ribbon from the bag, moving stiffly. Bending carefully and as little as possible, she bound the men's wrists together with the ribbon.

Connor closed his eyes and sighed, grateful for a few minutes to just lie on the floor, although it probably wouldn't be restful for long.

Dave helped settle him in with a pillow and blanket wordlessly, then skulked in the back corner of the room, watching.

After a moment Connor murmured, "You did good, lad." His praise was rare, but the apprentice had a hand in saving Balthazar's life that night.

The young man looked very surprised, and sat, replying shyly, "Thanks."

Veronica chanted softly, and the ribbon glowed with the slow activation of magic.

Connor's breathing slowed, steady and even, as if he were meditating. He seemed to be forcing himself to relax. The pull of magic was warm, and insistent, but not painful.

Balthazar stirred and moaned softly, then relaxed again. The flicker of his thoughts seemed to wander over the magical link; the connection felt more real than the goings-on in the room around them.

His thoughts drifted, remembering Horvath in their younger days, how warm and brotherly their friendship had once been. He felt only forlorn bewilderment now over how badly things had gone wrong. Gradually he became aware of the thin thread of Connor's presence, sympathetic and resigned, but glad to have kept Horvath's death off the other sorcerer's hands.

Balthazar reached for the connection, with a sense of longing to fix things, and a terror of failing his immortal friend and losing him. Distressed by the way his own problems seemed to stir up bad memories and unresolved issues for Balthazar, Connor's presence seemed to hover just out of reach. With a ripple of tired resignation, Balthazar began to retreat, then sank deeper, tumbling into a dreamscape. Not entirely mentally composed, he appeared as a young man, scrawny and vulnerable-looking, in a dark blue tunic. He looked around with puzzled blue eyes.

Behind him stretched the expanse back to his own mind, a bridge easily crossed, but under and around him was rocky terrain and dry grass. The ground was hilly and uneven, but looked like an area suffering severe drought or something else that had drained life from the land. Fog or mist shrouded the distance. Before him stood a stone wall, stretching both up and away on either side as far as he could see, but it was badly weathered and worn. The stones were cracked, and small chinks showed, making the entire structure look untrustworthy.

Connor stood half-turned away before the wall, a small rock in his hand, but he was not the Connor Balthazar was used to seeing. The clothes were familiar, but he looked tired, gaunt and grim and old, with grey hair. He also looked slightly bewildered to see the boy Balthazar there.

Hesitantly, he approached the immortal, rubbing his magic ring absently. "Connor…?"

"What?" The old man shook his head. "You'll be okay. Your family is with you." He wedged the rock he'd been holding into a chink in the wall, trying to shore up the massive, crumbling structure, then looked around for another useful rock.

"What are you doing?" The question was almost childlike.

He shrugged. "Just holding it together." It was a casual, matter-of-fact response, as if he was unaware how fragile the whole thing looked.

"What is it?" Balthazar wandered closer on bare feet.

Connor blinked at him wearily. "...It's my wall."

He raised an eyebrow. "This is a metaphor for something, right?"

Connor sank down on a boulder to sit, with a weary smirk. "Sure. Not a very creative one, but…" He shrugged, unashamed.

Balthazar came to sit beside him. "Looks kind of shaky."

He looked up at it, frowned, and resumed looking for stones. That and dead grass seemed to be all he had there to repair it with. "It's just… old. I can hold it together. I have to."

"Why?" He watched him innocently.

"Because the alternative is…" He shook his head, and got up to wedge another stone in. When he was done he turned back to eye the young man. "Look how close you are. If it fell, you'd get hit with a lot of falling rocks."

Balthazar shrugged and looked around. "Are you keeping things out, or in?"

"…Yes. I live on both sides." He carefully stuffed dry grass in a crack.

"Maybe you should build a gate."

He spread an arm wide at the rocky expanse around them, but seemed intent on plugging up the crack. "Not much left here to build one with."

"You're looking wrong. Do you want help?"

Connor hesitated, one hand against the weathered rock. "I'm… tired. I'm getting old." He sank down with his back to the wall. "I can't go far to look. I have to save what energy I've got left for the fights." He held one side of his coat open a moment, showing the katana kept there.

Balthazar slid off the rock and crouched by him easily, placing a hand on the grass. "It's not dead. The roots are alive. I'll show you." The dry grass began to turn green beneath his touch.

Eyebrows lifting, Connor reached to run a hand lightly over the revived grass. "It… used to look like that, back when the wall was a lot lower."

"It could look that way again." Roots sprang from the grass and wound across the lower stones of the wall.

"Careful… careful." Connor stroked the roots at the wall's base. "It has to hold. There's so _many_ rocks…" He touched them thoughtfully, still sitting on the ground. "See, these are the ones they threw at me in Glenfinnan…" His hand crept upward. "And these are from Heather's grave…"

As if in response to his words, heather flowers bloomed up from among the gently winding roots. "Wouldn't it be better to have a low wall that holds than a high one that doesn't?"

"My Blossom…" Connor murmured fondly, and smiled a little, stroking the flowers. "It's too high to climb to the top to rearrange them." He frowned in thought. "There used to be a door somewhere, or a window, just for Duncan, but it got smaller and the last time I walked the perimeter I couldn't find it."

"Stairs!" Balthazar suggested brightly.

"…Maybe…" He sighed, gaze still lingering on the flowers. "They'll take a long time to build… but there's _always_ more rocks." Connor began to drag himself to his feet, a very tired old man.

The flowers crept up the wall, shedding a sweet scent, and Balthazar stood. "Let me help?"

"You can collect tocks. I'm good at building."

Balthazar's back arched slightly, and wings sprouted, the soft-feathered, brown-striped wings of an owl. He picked up a round white stone and brought it over.

Connor watched him, reaching tentatively to touch a wing, then shook his head and went to work setting stones against the wall.

Briefly, Balthazar brushed a wing against him, then darted off to fetch stones, sometimes on foot and sometimes flying short distances.

What Connor had said about there being no end of rocks seemed true, and the landscape held an endless supply. Gradually he fit them together with skilled hands, building a staircase set flat against the wall, both reinforcing it and braced by it. The old warrior seemed very tired at his work, but doggedly persistent. Only once, when the stairs were just high enough that they could see from the top step that there was indeed an upper limit to the wall, did he pause to rest.

Balthazar joined him and wrapped a wing around him while he rested. Together they looked out at the desolate landscape around them, rocky terrain and dry grass, fading into fog in every direction. The flowers Balthazar had grown still clung to the wall, but the green patch remained small.

Connor leaned into the wing wearily, unbothered by the height. "I hope no one comes to fight me while I'm busy up here."

"I'll protect you," The winged boy Balthazar offered earnestly. "Do people come to fight you often?"

"Sometimes none for years, sometimes every few months." He shrugged lethargically. "I'm not afraid, I just get so tired of it. But I don't get a choice."

"New people, or people you've already fought?" Balthazar tilted his head a little, stroking Connor with one wing.

"Oh, it's always somebody different. It's just the Game. I have to fight, and I'm good at it."

Balthazar frowned in thought. "I'm not sure why it's called the Game. It seems very serious."

Connor gave a dry, hollow chuckle. "I don't know, but I've thought the same thing before. It's older than me. Older than you. Nobody seems to have the answer to _why_."

"No one knows why they're on this world, really." He soothed gently.

"No, but most people don't spend their lives being hunted." The grizzled old warrior sighed and got to his feet. "Come on. It only gets harder the higher we go."

Here was where the wings became truly useful, as Balthazar flew back and forth to bring stones up to Connor, sparing him the climb up and down. He considered, once, simply trying to fly over the wall. The height of the wall, the fog, and Connor's own psyche seemed to provide barriers that could only be breached the long and grueling way. The immortal seemed a little surprised by the assistance, but uncomplaining.

When the last step was in place he pulled himself, stiff and aching, to stand on the very top of the wall. Balthazar stood beside him, looking down into a swirling mist that shrouded whatever waited below. Connor very slowly spread his arms wide, stretching, and tilted his head back, eyes closed.

Balthazar fanned his wings gently. "I could carry you down."

He shook his head, arms dropping again. "I have to stand guard on this side. Protect the rest of me in there."

"I understand." Balthazar hugged the greying warrior gently, then dove off the wall and circled down.

Connor watched him go, then turned and began his slow descent back down the stairs.

The fog inside the wall thinned out as Balthazar descended, but there were still shreds of mist at ground level. Drawing in his wings, he walked slowly and quietly through a landscape that was first scraggly woods and rocky terrain, then city streets full of a refuse and grime, then lights woods again. The scenery was consistently inhospitable and lonely, but eventually he came upon a vast cemetery, the gates wide open.

This struck him as ominous, but he entered willingly, and the ground seemed to tingle under his feet in a not-unpleasant way. It was calm here, peaceful, and the air was a little warmer. He walked between the graves softly, until he heard a small whimpers from behind one of the largest gravestones, a kind of monument nearly as big as a person, and certainly big enough to hide one.

"Connor?" He called softly, approaching the stone and peering around it.

The figure there was in tartan and rags, filthy, bleeding, and with both wrists lashed to an old oxen yoke that lay across the back of his neck. Connor looked up with his face full of terror, nineteen years old and looking even younger. His hair was long and matted, with a few braids. He made a scrambling move to get his back against the monument and the yoke clunked against it, making him gasp and wince.

Balthazar was a little shocked, but he knelt in front of him and spoke softly in Gaelic. "I'm not going to hurt you, Connor. Do you know me?"

Connor eyes him warily, breathing heavy. "…B-Balthazar? Ye look… different." Even his voice, although it still had the familiar faintly raspy quality, sounded lighter and younger.

"So do you." Balthazar fidgeted. "…Can I help?"

"Do I?" He looked down at himself, apparently bewildered, then glanced around fearfully. "I… we're _mostly_ safe here."

Balthazar reached out to him gently, hoping to release him from the yoke.

Connor flinched and cowered slightly. His wrists were raw and bleeding where he'd strained against the ropes.

"Ssh… sh." He touched the rope lightly, and it slowly fell apart, dissolving.

He gasped, hands dropping, and curled up in pain. After a long time in the yoke, it clearly pained him to bring his shoulders and neck into a more natural pose.

Gently, Balthazar lifted the yoke away and touched his shoulder, easing the pain magically.

Hands shaking badly from muscle fatigue, Connor rubbed at the back of his neck and shoulders. It was a familiar gesture, one usually made under stress. "Tapadh leat*..." He leaned back against the stone memorial, seeming to take comfort from it.

Balthazar nodded absently in acknowledgement, studying the stone monolith. It was the biggest he'd seen in the cemetery, mossy and a little timeworn, but marked in big letters was the name 'Ramirez'. There seemed to be a faint etched background texture, some sort of feather design.

"He'll come. Even here…" Connor looked tired, scared, and he turned desperate pleading eyes on Balthazar. "I can't fight him."

"Who? Who's after you here, Connor?" Balthazar reached out to touch the side of his head soothingly.

"Jacob." His gaze searched the sorcerer's face.

Balthazar frowned. "Jacob Kell. Is he the only one?"

Connor looked uneasy, head lowered. There were no walls here, and his guilt was very transparent. He slid into Gaelic again. "When he comes, everyone else is close behind. They all throw stones… but I deserve it."

"You don't deserve it." He pulled Connor into a protective hug.

The boy Connor felt too thin, all limbs, and he was trembling slightly. "But… the Clan can't be wrong!"

"Why not?" He stroked his back tentatively.

"Because… because they're my _**Clan**_!" He seemed a little puzzled that this was not clear. "They're kin. They're everything, and they cast me out. Kate wanted them to burn me…"

"They're important, but not infallible. It was a long time ago, Connor." He continued to hold him.

"We have to keep secret. I have to keep secret. The whole world would cast us out if they knew… or worse." The young immortal was sagging into his arms.

Balthazar rocked slightly, stroking his back. "There are a lot of secrets kept in the world. I'm sorry yours is so lonely."

Connor tensed suddenly in his arms, in response to a strange soft ringing sound on the air.

Looking around warily, Balthazar let him go. "What's that?"

"Jacob." Connor staggered up, bare-legged between kilt and fur boots, ragged shirt hanging off him. He seemed determined to protect Balthazar, and although he carried no sword he stood shakily with both arms out, trying to shield the sorcerer with his own body.

Still unsure of the source of the danger, Balthazar stood and placed a hand on his back.

Through the fog, a man in modern dress approached, frowning calmly. He looked easily twice Connor's age, with blonde hair cut close to his scalp, but eyes a similar grey-blue to Connor's. "What's this?" His Scottish accent was barely a trace, erased by time and travel. "Who is your friend, Connor? Is he a better friend than _**I**_ was?"

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "I hear you have a strange definition of friendship."

"Me? Connor's the one who murders childhood friends…"

Connor trembled, legs weak. "Jacob! I didnae mean to…"

Balthazar probed the man before him with subtle magic, unsure if he was merely a projection of Connor's guilt, or remnants of the real thing. What he sensed was a true presence, and deep roots, as if he had worked his way to a level of control.

"You didn't mean to kill my father? You didn't mean to kill me? You didn't mean to start the fire that burned most of Glenfinnan to the ground?" His tone was quietly accusing.

Connor dropped to his knees.

Balthazar stroked Connor's hair once, then stalked around him toward Kell. "Enough. I think you're done here."

Kell took a step back, wary. "_**I**_ belong here. Connor brought me. I _live_ here… you're merely a visitor." He taunted, fading into the mist.

"I'll be seeing you again." He called, ring flashing on his hand, but the presence had slipped back into the depths of the dreamscape, or possibly Connor's own psyche. After a moment Balthazar turned back toward Connor worriedly.

On his knees, crying silently, Connor was reaching for the yoke he had been so recently freed from.

Balthazar pushed it away and moved between it and Connor, going down on his knees beside him. He cupped the immortal's face in both hands to force him to meet his eyes. "Connor… it doesn't have to be like this."

"It's all my fault. All these…" He gestured to the cemetery with one hand, but clung to Balthazar's shirtfront with the other.

"No. It's not. People make choices; we don't make them for them."

"What about _my_ choices?" He wiped an arm across his eyes, still crying. "I did everything Jacob said…"

"Was there a reason?" There was no judgment in his tone.

Connor swayed on his knees, clinging. "I… was angry…" He hesitated.

"You can tell me, Connor." He put both arms around him for support.

"They were… they burned my mother. But _that_ was for me, too…" He pushed his head against Balthazar's shoulder, shaking and crying like a child.

Balthazar curled around him protectively. "You did what any man would have done, Connor."

Connor sobbed quietly, his words hard to understand through it, accent thick. "I pulled her down but she died in my arms. She died for me! She died because I live…"

There were voices rising, outside the cemetery and the mist, angry taunts and jeers. A few stones came at them through the fence.

Balthazar conjured up a shield around them both, blocking out the sounds as well as the stones. "Ssh…" He stroked Connor's back. "She loved you, and she knew you loved her. Mothers make sacrifices for their children every day."

Connor sank closer to Balthazar. "They said I'm a daemon, a monster… there's so much blood on my hands now, I'm not sure they were wrong." He was leaning heavily, in a slow collapse, mumbling, "And the yoke is so heavy. I'm tired."

"Rest, then. I'm here." Balthazar rested his check lightly against his hair. "Just rest."

The boy Connor wound down his crying with the occasional sob, curled in the embrace of his friend. The taunting figures faded with his grieving, leaving the landscape desolate once more, but thickening mist made everything seem flimsy and insubstantial.

Balthazar clung doggedly to the connection until his mental energy was sapped, and he sank into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

On the bedroom floor, Connor gave the occasional soft grunt of pain until he too fell into deep sleep. His face was still black and blue, and tiny blue crackles like electricity traveled the ribbon and danced around Balthazar's injuries. Veronica and Dave took turns watching them until the former was satisfied the transfer was complete. She undid the ribbon carefully and allowed Dave to work on healing her own injuries before sending him home. With Horvath gone, they could all take the time to rest safely.

* * *

*Tapadh leat = Thank you (Scottish Gaelic)


End file.
